We had no choice but to remove the red oak tree that had stood proudly in the backyard for fifty or so years. A springtime lightning strike snaked down the trunk, leaving an open zipper of woody core and jagged shards of bark. For six months my husband and I stood at our kitchen window, coffee in hand, observing the slow progression of death: the oak’s branches turned brown and brittle, the waxy, pointed leaves curled into little cups. On more than one occasion I sobbed over the demise of the great and gentle giant.

Most of contemporary life looks to reason and calculation, the quantifiable and meritorious. When weighty decisions loom, we divide our thinking into pros and cons, consider impact and probability. We are products, still, of the Age of Enlightenment. And with good reason (pun intended). Humanistic inquiry and critical thinking produce well-rounded, informed perspectives—in life, leadership, and I might say, sometimes in love…

Last spring, some weeks after surgery, my friend A-M and I visited the Baltimore Museum of Art to view an exhibition on Joan Mitchell. I was still using a walking cane and bored with making rounds through the kitchen, TV room, and library. Despite the blanket of wool and pain relievers beneath which I slept, I wrestled with various anxieties—personal, professional, political—a “three-P cocktail” guaranteed to induce Gloria Swanson-like swooning. My husband, ever a patient caretaker, more than deserved a break …