As I age, I find wonder not just in nature’s marvels but in the quiet, everyday moments — a stranger’s sympathetic glance, a warm handclasp, the loyalty of pets, the beauty of old tenements, shared jokes, spontaneous song. These small wonders counterbalance sorrow and affirm life’s richness. Progress in cancer research over the past 25 years has saved countless lives, a quiet miracle benefiting all, even if unseen.

True wonders often find us: my wife Ginny’s steady grace, the joy of learning new things, the alchemy of language, the mysteries of wind and sound, the enduring gift of art. I reflect on Emily Dickinson, Fred Astaire, Ella Fitzgerald, Vermeer, Bach, Monk — whose work now invites deeper wonder precisely because I can’t fully explain it. My childhood began at 36 Gramercy Park East, a Gothic revival building in New York with stone gargoyles and armored knights, where three upstairs ladies adopted me, reading Twain and teaching cards.

On Christmas Eve, they took me in a limousine to see Fifth Avenue’s lights. At six, I vacationed in Westport, Conn., beginning a life shaped by wonder, love, and the quiet courage of ordinary grace.