essay on A Gift

Imagine, if you will, a gift. I’d like for you to picture in your mind. It’s not too big. About the size of a golf ball. So in vision what it looks like all wrapped up. But before I show you what’s inside, I will tell you that’s going to do incredible things for you. It will bring all of your family together, you will feel loved and appreciated like never before. And reconnect friends and acquaintances you haven’t heart from in years. Adoration and admiration will overwhelm you. It will recalibrate what’s important in your life. It will redefine your sense of spirituality and faith. You’ll have a new understanding and trust in your body. You’ll have unsurpassed vitality and energy. You’ll expand your vocabulary, meet new people, and you’ll have a healthier lifestyle. And get this, you’ll have an eight-week vocation of doing absolutely nothing. You’ll eat countless gourmet meals. Flowers will arrive by the truck load. People will say to you: You look great. Have you had any work done? And you’ll have a life-time supply of good drugs. You’ll be challenged, inspired, motivated and humbled. Your life will have new meaning: peace, health, serenity, happiness, nirvana. The price? Fifty-five thousand dollars. And that’s an incredible deal. By now, I know you’re dying to know what it is and where you can get one. Does Amazon carry it? Does it have the Apple logo on it? Is there a waiting list? Not likely. This gift came to me about five months ago. And looked more like this when it was all wrapped up. Not quite so pretty. And this. And then this. It was a rare jam. A brain tumor. Hemangioblastoma. The gift that keeps on giving. And while I’m ok now. I wouldn’t wish this gift for you. I’m not sure you’d want it. But I wouldn’t change my experience. It profoundly altered my life in ways it didn’t expect. In all the ways I just shared