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@sophiabush : Yesterday I was tearing my house apart looking for something. My computer charger, to be exact. I was in work-work-work mode. Not to be distracted or deterred. Goals! Hustle! As I started scrounging around the shelf underneath my old coffee table, I didn’t see the cord. But I did see one of my favorite books. Its linen spine. With clean lettering bearing my favorite poet’s name: Mary Oliver. I grabbed the book, sat down, flipped to a random page and started reading. A smile crept across my face. I started paying attention to the way the LA air smelled of fresh rain, and to the odd rhythm of it falling. Mary shifts you back to what’s important, and clicks you firmly into place. • And then this morning I woke up and heard she’d died. What an ache. To lose a person you always felt you could turn to. What a strange feeling, given that the person was someone you’d never met... yet, here I am. Heart sore. Whose words could better mark today than hers: . “When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse . to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox . when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, . I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness? . And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, . and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, . and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence, . and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth. . When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. . When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. . I don't want