I sat there in Naomi’s living room.
She was supposed to share the secret to longevity —
being 91 and all, it was assumed she knew.
But she was as befuddled as the rest of us,
asking as many whys, just about different things:
why can’t I find a modest dress anymore?
why do we have to remove the wood paneling at church?
why does my family stare at their devices every time we gather?
She legitimately didn’t know,
just like we don’t know
most of what we wish we did.
Even the great god Google
could not deliver us from this.
Besides, if Naomi is any indication,
the more you know
the less it really amounts to anyway.
But it helps to know a few things, like:
who your no-matter-what people are,
and that you’re planning to go for a walk tomorrow —
in either a literal or figurative sense —
and that there are some TV dinners in the freezer, should you need them.
The secret to longevity then,
might be that you don’t know what it is.
And that you are OK with that.