My “Bay to Breakers” Moment

 

 

I hope those of you who read Kevan Garrett’s wonderfully inspirational e-mail yesterday had a chance to do some soul searching and think about your own “Bay to Breakers” moment.

 

It’s unfortunate that it sometimes takes a terrible tragedy to remind us of the precious opportunities we all have.  Accordingly, we must seize those opportunities and make the most of them.

After reading about Kevan’s passionate deviance and his determination to run the Bay to Breakers race, I was moved way beyond my usual capacity to express emotions.  This was especially the case after reading that several other people we mutually know will be joining Kevan in the race.  Some friends are reportedly flying in to the Bay Area just for this occasion, from places as far away as Colorado.  Just because of something they read from Kevan and a need to find and ultimately fulfill their own moment.

Regretfully, I’m in the opposite time zone right now.  There are no races here.  Nonetheless, I did manage to find my “Bay to Breakers” moment to be in solidarity with those who suffered in Boston.

Yesterday, I pondered the many options open to me here in the Nation’s Capital.  When it comes to honor and sacrifice, no city in America displays more reminders of who we are and more importantly what we aspire to be — both as people and as a nation.

Of all our symbols of national power, for me, nothing is more moving than a visit to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery.  This sacred spot houses the remains of those lost in battle, in past wars.  The tomb is guarded 24-hours-a-day, 7-days-a-week, 365-days-a-year.  There are no breaks.  There are no holidays.  Soldiers have stood guard over this grave through snowstorms and hurricanes.  It’s been guarded ever since 1948.  Without interruption.

Each time I’ve visited the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and witnessed the changing of the guard, I came away with a different emotional experience.  But this occasion might have been the most special.

It was the last public changing of the guard of the day open to the public.  As the sunset over the white marble graves of all those lost, the nearly silent ceremony began.  Given the lateness of the day, only three people were there to witness it.  This was a special moment.  I was fortunate to be there.

I stood.  I watched.  I even shed a tear.

And, I remembered them in my own way.