It’s during these times that I feel a little defective, like an under-cooked adult. Not fully marinated and seasoned. Barely able to function when I face a calendar that screams, “Get your game face on!”
It started Sunday morning when I had to say goodbye to my two young sons in Houston after way too short of a visit. Then, as I was boarding my aircraft, I found out that our esteemed mastery faculty member for this week didn’t arrive on his international flight and no one knew where this modern elder was. On the flight, I found out that one of my favorite MEA alums had passed away over the weekend (more on that next paragraph). I arrived in Baja, left my laptop on the plane (still don’t have it), and received a message from one of my long-time friends, who is a former close work colleague and also is an alum, that she is likely coming to the end of her life and wants to make one last pilgrimage to El Pescadero. Breathe, Chip, breathe.
I’ll see my sons here in Baja in just a few weeks. Our mastery faculty member showed up a couple of hours later. My laptop will surface one of these days (not easy writing on someone else’s Hebrew-based laptop). But, losing Renee Tedesco is still a sock to the gut. Ironically, I was in Houston when she passed in that same city. She was a vibrant, healthy woman, younger than me, who deeply loved MEA and its community. She had been advising me on how MEA could develop its B2B business. She encouraged her adult son, who came with her to Sabbatical Sessions (Renee has been here three times), to do the Intergenerational Wisdom workshop here in Baja next month. She likely had a heart attack while riding a stationary bike in her home. Words can’t express how disoriented I feel with this news.
Renee Tedesco
Renee with David and Chris at MEA
As I think of Renee, the face of Lynn Farzaroli is etched in my mind. This brave woman in her mid-30s was part of our second public MEA cohort in November 2018. She was fighting cancer, but also was interested in cultivating and harvesting her wisdom. Unfortunately, she passed away 15 months later.
We never know who will be leaving us way too early, so all we can do is to show up and say “I love you” as much as humanly possible (thank you, Joshua Abramson, for that encouragement every time I see you). I’ll close with those three words and a thanks for being a Wisdom Well reader: I love you. And, now I feel a little more oriented. Love can be a North Star when we’re lost in the jungle.