G.K. Chesterton once wrote that “travel narrows the mind.” Maybe so; but it can also calm the mind in unpredictable ways that staying home does not. This happened to me once before, when I returned to New York on the eve of 9/11, deeply imprinted by the tranquility I had experienced at a certain untamed garden in the South of France. As fear spread across America that September and in the months that followed, I kept returning in my mind to that garden, and regaining a center. And it happened again on the cusp of Covid-19.

The subject of death has shadowed me lately – not my own, but death more generally. Several acquaintances have recently died or are dying. As I get older, that seems to happen more frequently. It’s a universal human question – and therefore a quintessential liberal arts question: what does death mean? How should we face it?

If one cares about the life of the mind, it helps to have friends who listen, and to whom one listens in turn. I have many thoughtful acquaintances, but for ongoing dialogue, Heidi and Lewis are two such friends for me. And here I’m talking mainly about Lewis, because he isn’t my life partner.