On the Periphery.

I don't think anything frustrates me more than insincerity. I bristle at any word that might be insincere. I take careful steps not to say anything on the internet that might sound insincere.

So it's hard for me to write about things that are touchy. Not because I don't have feelings about them, but because I worry that my feelings will come off as insincere or feigned or bland and broad and safe--all of which would make them unpalatable to me.

A lot of people on the periphery of my life have died recently. The manager of the Costa Vida at UVU. A distant acquaintance's brother. Elder Perry of the leadership of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And Beau, the vice president's son, twice the attorney general of my home state.

When people on the periphery of your life die, it is always surprising how much it means to you. That you can feel so changed, knowing that Donny won't ever make your salad at Costa Vida again. It's tender and strange to describe, but it's a real feeling.

When you feel that way, you remember that life must mean something. Otherwise, dying wouldn't mean so much. I believe that Jesus is the Savior, and that's why things have meaning. Because of Jesus, neither life nor death can make life meaningless.