You know the phrase "live every day as though it were your last"? That is better advice in theory than in practice, because it's fairly likely that our last days won't offer us the chance to do as we please. Some of us will spend our last days hooked up to a respirator; others will have lost their mental faculties months or years before. A few of us will be lucky enough to be completely present in our last moments, and others will begin their mornings without knowing that they're drinking the last coffee of their lives.
I know I'm not making much sense; I'm really just rambling while ruminating. But having spent a decent amount of time among the dying this year, I can't help but think that "carpe diem" is a better credo. Not only is it more succinct, its meaning is slightly different. It's more positive, like blooming into life — whereas living like it's your last day implies that you're running from death. I keep thinking about hope and fear as motivators. Both have propelled me into action, but the decisions I have made out of fear have been the ones I've regretted. I regret the things I didn't do more than the things I did.
Three things happened this year that radically changed my perspective on the way I want to live. First, I traveled through Spain with a man I barely knew. It was a crazy idea, but instead of being typically safe and saying no to it, I said yes. And I'm so lucky that I did, because in doing what I wanted instead of what I thought would be safer, I wound up falling in love. It doesn't matter that the relationship ended. Well, it matters, but you know what I mean — I don't regret the decision. Decades from now, when spots cloud my vision and my bones are tired, I will still be glad that I took the risk, Katherine Mansfield style.
Number two! Breast lump. The moment I felt it wobble under my fingers, I knew that it definitely did not belong there. I was scared but somewhat calm about the whole thing. It's not like I could worry myself out of cancer if I'd had it. Because the lump is benign, the doctor said we'd monitor it rather than remove it. In a weird way, I'm glad it's still there, because it's a physical reminder to appreciate simply being healthy. I know that sounds corny, but it's true.
(Number 2a: Closely related to Lumpwatch 2009 is the lesson of the broken foot, which is that sometimes you have to realize you sometimes can't change a single thing about a situation. Sometimes you have to accept your fate, ask for the help you need, and get through the shit the best you can. Preferably without crutch fetishists tracking down your photos.)
Finally, the third. My father's death has had the most impact of these three things, but it is the most difficult to articulate. One thing I do know is that — oh god, this is so hippie-ish, forgive me — life is brief, and death is very real, and I want to live more courageously until my time comes. I know that sounds like some new agey shit, and maybe it is, but after he died, I felt more urgency to become a better person. No more rinky-dink procrastinating, no more excuses, no more holding myself back from fear of failure. I want to share more, to love more, to write more, to be more giving. I want to have a remarkable life and to create stronger connections, or at least die trying.
I don't have life figured out. I don't think anybody ever does. But I think this year will stand out as a turning point. I don't want this to come off as some sort of pretentious, know-it-all "Oh, I'm going through a MAGICAL SPIRITUAL TRANSFORMATION" thing. I readily admit that if I were a Transformer, my name would be Megaflawed, and I would clumsily shift into an Edsel or a unicycle. Still, it feels like something is happening. I feel acutely alive, and that is a very good place to be.
(I am so sorry for all of the boring me-me-me blather lately, but I am mostly stuck at home and I'm trying to attack this emotional stuff rather than bury it, and it's my website anyway. When I can walk again, expect thrilling tales of public-transit weirdos and the return of Assclown of the Week.)
I know I'm not making much sense; I'm really just rambling while ruminating. But having spent a decent amount of time among the dying this year, I can't help but think that "carpe diem" is a better credo. Not only is it more succinct, its meaning is slightly different. It's more positive, like blooming into life — whereas living like it's your last day implies that you're running from death. I keep thinking about hope and fear as motivators. Both have propelled me into action, but the decisions I have made out of fear have been the ones I've regretted. I regret the things I didn't do more than the things I did.
Three things happened this year that radically changed my perspective on the way I want to live. First, I traveled through Spain with a man I barely knew. It was a crazy idea, but instead of being typically safe and saying no to it, I said yes. And I'm so lucky that I did, because in doing what I wanted instead of what I thought would be safer, I wound up falling in love. It doesn't matter that the relationship ended. Well, it matters, but you know what I mean — I don't regret the decision. Decades from now, when spots cloud my vision and my bones are tired, I will still be glad that I took the risk, Katherine Mansfield style.
Number two! Breast lump. The moment I felt it wobble under my fingers, I knew that it definitely did not belong there. I was scared but somewhat calm about the whole thing. It's not like I could worry myself out of cancer if I'd had it. Because the lump is benign, the doctor said we'd monitor it rather than remove it. In a weird way, I'm glad it's still there, because it's a physical reminder to appreciate simply being healthy. I know that sounds corny, but it's true.
(Number 2a: Closely related to Lumpwatch 2009 is the lesson of the broken foot, which is that sometimes you have to realize you sometimes can't change a single thing about a situation. Sometimes you have to accept your fate, ask for the help you need, and get through the shit the best you can. Preferably without crutch fetishists tracking down your photos.)
Finally, the third. My father's death has had the most impact of these three things, but it is the most difficult to articulate. One thing I do know is that — oh god, this is so hippie-ish, forgive me — life is brief, and death is very real, and I want to live more courageously until my time comes. I know that sounds like some new agey shit, and maybe it is, but after he died, I felt more urgency to become a better person. No more rinky-dink procrastinating, no more excuses, no more holding myself back from fear of failure. I want to share more, to love more, to write more, to be more giving. I want to have a remarkable life and to create stronger connections, or at least die trying.
I don't have life figured out. I don't think anybody ever does. But I think this year will stand out as a turning point. I don't want this to come off as some sort of pretentious, know-it-all "Oh, I'm going through a MAGICAL SPIRITUAL TRANSFORMATION" thing. I readily admit that if I were a Transformer, my name would be Megaflawed, and I would clumsily shift into an Edsel or a unicycle. Still, it feels like something is happening. I feel acutely alive, and that is a very good place to be.
(I am so sorry for all of the boring me-me-me blather lately, but I am mostly stuck at home and I'm trying to attack this emotional stuff rather than bury it, and it's my website anyway. When I can walk again, expect thrilling tales of public-transit weirdos and the return of Assclown of the Week.)
Even if these are just "me-me-me" thoughts, i find them encouraging. I think there is a lot of truth to be found regarding whether it is fear or hope that motivates our actions and that the former leads to more regret. I know i don't know you, and you don't know me, but i am sorry for this season of hurt. But also glad that this season of pain and loss is bringing about something positive. Being a farmer of sorts it seems a lot like compost; take all the shit you have, pile it up, let it sit, turn it over, then spread it onto life and let it be a source of nourishment. So, yeah, this is really just meant to be an encouragement to you; keep growing, keep hoping and striving for life.
love,
luke
Hi Luke,
Thank you for the thoughtful words. I appreciate them, even if we don't know each other. Maybe because we don't, too. The compost analogy makes a lot of sense (and it made me laugh). I hope that you are in a growing-crops phase rather than a manure-heavy one.