Living to Die
I write a lot; but have been quiet over the past month or so.
I could blame work and the time I have spent traveling. I could blame Game of Thrones. Or the NBA playoffs. The nice weather is often a culprit, but not this time.
This time, the post I’ve been wanting to write has been bouncing around in my head causing all other ideas to wither in the shadow it casts.
Usually, my ideas are shaken soda, needing only the smallest opening to explode onto the paper. Or Medium.
But not this one. Every time it formed itself into a series of words, I would beat it back into my skull. Each idea met with a definitive hand to the face and a harsh finger wag.
I wasn’t ready to share it.
Well, that’s not true. I am ready to share it. But it’s dark. And about death.
And, right now, my world is surrounded by death.
For the first time in my life, not mine. Mass shootings, cancer, celebrity deaths, friend’s family members, pets. Death everywhere, every day. Not an hour goes by without some conversation including death.
Have I lost your interest death? Have you decided that spending time with all these people and institutions and beliefs and…and…and…god dammit.
For me, who strides step for step with death daily, the concept of MY DEATH is easy to comprehend and intellectualize. But 50 people dancing? Or every fucking singer that create a song that defined my soul at a time when my soul was wispy and lacked strength? Or people that I love or could love. Deeply. Fighting cancer.
I have been flippant in conversations about my death. I think about it daily. This post was going to explore the difference between living to die and dying to live. Except now friends are doing exactly that. Dying to live. And me?
Fuck me.
Every day I wake up, and through out the day, I have a list in my head. Well, lists in my head. Everything is on a list. You? On a list. Me? On a list. I have lists on lists.
But ask me about one of my lists, and I’ll act like a 90 year old senile grandfather, “Oh lists? I don’t know what you are talking about. Except Steph Curry is one of my top five favorite players.”
The first list I create each day is a simple list. It sometimes is long, but mostly its short In fact, I try hard to make it a list of one. One answer. One question.
“Why should I live today?”
Over the last week, I have thought about the difference between having a reason to live vs a reason to not die.
Reasons why we decide to not die:
our families and friends;
our careers;
that one thing we always wanted;
the accomplishment we almost have;
because we aren’t failures.
Reasons why we decide to live:
for our family and friends;
for our careers;
for that one thing we always wanted;
for the accomplishment we almost have;
for success.
Living isn’t for us; it’s for everyone else. Every day I chose to not die, it is a choice for me.
God dammit, if I don’t live that day exactly how I want to.
I always thought it was a great way to live…
…until, friends, celebrities, pets, people dancing, didn’t get to choose.
And now I feel like an asshole.
The goodness I have in my life is unmeasurable. The friends, pets, celebrities and people dancing make each of my days special.
I am not sick. I can fix most of what I hate about myself. I am healthy. I am not lucky, but I am certainly not unlucky.
I can spend a 1,000 words where the word I slashes itself across the page; a thousand paper cuts of death.
My egocentricity covers any altruism that existed when this thought began and melts into a dripping self-serving pile of letters that hardens over a single belief:
The opposite of death isn’t life. It is trust. Just like the opposite of hate isn’t love. It is acceptance.
And if there was any learning from the first half of 2016, it is that. Life isn’t about finding meaning or escaping darkness. It’s about trust and acceptance.
Starting with me.