Today is my brother Calvus' birthday. Calvus is a remarkable man, and all the more remarkable because he's such a young man (turning 24 today) who has already found a enviable balance in his life that most of the rest of us fight for in vain. And it may be wrong to suggest that he's found balance in adulthood, because he's maintained a wise and easy equilibrium from childhood almost uninterrupted.
He gives me hope that it's possible to have a desk full of books to be read and also a vibrant social life.
He gives me hope that I could be cordial and outgoing socially while also speaking wisely, judiciously, and saying nothing offensive or untoward.
He gives me hope that I could learn useful and fulfilling skills of husbandry, like gardening and baking, while still keeping up with a rigorous schedule of musical practice and intellectual life.
He gives me hope that I could have a joyful, loving, and genuine spiritual life while also subjecting questions of theology and spirituality to rigorous academic criticism.
He gives me hope that exercising self-control can look more like enjoyment than privation.
He gives me hope that one can love the outdoors in all seasons, even in Western New York.
He gives me hope that I might be able to get up early every morning while still maintaining civility to my wife and children.
He gives me hope that public kindness really does look more goodness than weakness.
He gives me hope that really learning the minutiae of a subject, whether it's Hebrew Grammar or the chemistry of breadmaking, will eventually pay off.
Calvus and I are very much alike. In the ways that we're similar, I consider it a high compliment.
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