Would
you think I was weird if I told you how often I think about death?
Maybe you already picked up on that-- given the content of this blog.... Maybe that's why I started this blog.... because the general public gets all squeamish and uncomfortable.
Sometimes I feel guilty and ashamed of my thoughts because I don't really want to die, and I know there's this social expectation of preserving life at all cost. For example, look at hospitals and retirement homes: keeping people alive through complicated procedures simply out of a fear of liability. Keeping people alive who's bodies are telling us that they are clearly ready to move on from this life, but our system... but we--out of fear or obstinacy or selfishness or whatever it is--insist on keeping people alive, even when they're ready to die. In doing so, we rob death of its dignity, and dignity can be found in death if we allow it. Death is an inescapable, integral part of life.
So, yes. I think about death. I also say "so" a lot in casual writing. Bear with me. I'm already stunting stream-of-consciousness writing by using appropriate and proper capitalization and it's cramping my pinky fingers. Silly grammar.... Anyhow, I enjoy living, but I think I understand when people tell me they're simply done with it. I get that part. I don't believe death has to be sad or feared by the person who is ready for it. I'm not so much speaking of active suicide, as one with major depression or anxiety disorder might. I simply consider how things might be if I just didn't wake up... or if I got--through no fault of my own-- some fatal illness. The notion doesn't upset me. Granted, I fully acknowledge the possibility that I'm completely, batshit crazy wrong--and the notion of pain doesn't thrill, to say the least, and I don't dare intend to minimize the horror anyone goes through who experiences such illnesses--but right now I feel like I could let go of life as I know it. I wouldn't want to hurt those that love me, but I don't have children so I don't believe that anyone fundamentally depends on me. I just feel like, from my own self-centered, severely limited vantage point--even though I enjoy life and I plan to continue on that same happy trajectory--I could bow out at this high point in my life.
It's not like my thoughts are not limited to when things are "bad" and I'm feeling like the sun will never come out and the grass will never grow. Rather, I think about death pretty consistently. I think about it when things are bad, knowing that bad stuff happens and it's just a phase and things always get better with a little motivation and determination. Then, I think about it when things are good too. I guess it's like fantasizing about quitting while I'm ahead, taking away the chance of failing. Quitting before anything gets bad again. This part is anxiety, I guess. It's not a helplessness hopelessness thing. I am perfectly capable of offering and receiving help and maintaining hope. It's what I do for a living, and I love what I do: helping people develop insight into hope and strengths and meaningful existence. I practice gratitude and I love to love and I love to experience and feel and share. I love the movement and experience of life.
As I mentioned before, however, the gravity of fatal illness such as cancer and the death of loved ones is not lost on me. Death and loss is sad. It can feel like the very fabric of our soul is being brutally shredded. The universe takes away that which is most important to us. We are stripped of our reality when we lose that which has shaped our lives, that which is most important to us. Our movements change. Our thoughts change. Our routine and our paradigm and our interactions change. Death strikes hard, so I'd like to think that I do not take life for granted.
I'd like to think that my appreciation of death is the major contributor of my passion for life. We don't have forever, so make the most of NOW. I don't smoke; I eat my veggies and whole grains; I exercise; I work, relax, and have fun. I love people. I strive for balance, and I encourage and mentor others to do the same, but without expecting perfection. My job is all about the facilitation of emotional and physical wellness, and I LOVE my job. I want people to live well and take care of themselves. I want people to enjoy the limited time they have with one another. I want to make the best of everyday, and perhaps that is the point here: making the best and the most of everyday, and living fully and simultaneously within the joy, sorrow, titillation, pain, chaos, order, surprise, and predictability. Living this way could suggest all loose ends are mostly tied at all times. To me, living this way means I don't have to fear death, necessarily. It means I've lived well, whether I live to see the next hour or the next 60 years. It means I'm celebrating life. Of course, all of this is easier said from the nosebleed seats than from the front row, I imagine. At some point, I'll get a closer look and feel and experience, and we'll see where all of these pretentious notions get me when faced with the Reaper, front and center.
And this is where maybe I'll allow a little more of the feeling from the original draft of this note to peak through. Why not? It's honest. While I already mentioned that these feelings and notions are present through both good and bad days, I originally wrote this without the sense of peace and hope and tranquility that I feel now. It was a bad day. I originally wrote that...(original draft starts here)... perhaps somewhere in me I don't believe that I deserve this life. I don't believe I am capable of living it well. I am ordinary in the midst of the extraordinary. The hobgoblins that anxiously scratch the walls of my mind suggest that I will always let people down or that people will always let me down. Perhaps it's because somewhere in me I don't believe I am worth their enduring attention or love or loyalty. Psych-speak: family of origin stuff, re-enacted throughout life's pre-insight decisions. And, fucking hobgoblins. This all sounds so pathetic.... I'm even ashamed and anxious about my thoughts of being ashamed and anxious.... but that, of course, is simply a part of depression. This is where I have a choice, and my choice will create a new light over a different path. I will remember hope, I will take care of myself and those I love, and I will continue to pass go.
Sometimes I feel guilty and ashamed of my thoughts because I don't really want to die, and I know there's this social expectation of preserving life at all cost. For example, look at hospitals and retirement homes: keeping people alive through complicated procedures simply out of a fear of liability. Keeping people alive who's bodies are telling us that they are clearly ready to move on from this life, but our system... but we--out of fear or obstinacy or selfishness or whatever it is--insist on keeping people alive, even when they're ready to die. In doing so, we rob death of its dignity, and dignity can be found in death if we allow it. Death is an inescapable, integral part of life.
So, yes. I think about death. I also say "so" a lot in casual writing. Bear with me. I'm already stunting stream-of-consciousness writing by using appropriate and proper capitalization and it's cramping my pinky fingers. Silly grammar.... Anyhow, I enjoy living, but I think I understand when people tell me they're simply done with it. I get that part. I don't believe death has to be sad or feared by the person who is ready for it. I'm not so much speaking of active suicide, as one with major depression or anxiety disorder might. I simply consider how things might be if I just didn't wake up... or if I got--through no fault of my own-- some fatal illness. The notion doesn't upset me. Granted, I fully acknowledge the possibility that I'm completely, batshit crazy wrong--and the notion of pain doesn't thrill, to say the least, and I don't dare intend to minimize the horror anyone goes through who experiences such illnesses--but right now I feel like I could let go of life as I know it. I wouldn't want to hurt those that love me, but I don't have children so I don't believe that anyone fundamentally depends on me. I just feel like, from my own self-centered, severely limited vantage point--even though I enjoy life and I plan to continue on that same happy trajectory--I could bow out at this high point in my life.
It's not like my thoughts are not limited to when things are "bad" and I'm feeling like the sun will never come out and the grass will never grow. Rather, I think about death pretty consistently. I think about it when things are bad, knowing that bad stuff happens and it's just a phase and things always get better with a little motivation and determination. Then, I think about it when things are good too. I guess it's like fantasizing about quitting while I'm ahead, taking away the chance of failing. Quitting before anything gets bad again. This part is anxiety, I guess. It's not a helplessness hopelessness thing. I am perfectly capable of offering and receiving help and maintaining hope. It's what I do for a living, and I love what I do: helping people develop insight into hope and strengths and meaningful existence. I practice gratitude and I love to love and I love to experience and feel and share. I love the movement and experience of life.
As I mentioned before, however, the gravity of fatal illness such as cancer and the death of loved ones is not lost on me. Death and loss is sad. It can feel like the very fabric of our soul is being brutally shredded. The universe takes away that which is most important to us. We are stripped of our reality when we lose that which has shaped our lives, that which is most important to us. Our movements change. Our thoughts change. Our routine and our paradigm and our interactions change. Death strikes hard, so I'd like to think that I do not take life for granted.
I'd like to think that my appreciation of death is the major contributor of my passion for life. We don't have forever, so make the most of NOW. I don't smoke; I eat my veggies and whole grains; I exercise; I work, relax, and have fun. I love people. I strive for balance, and I encourage and mentor others to do the same, but without expecting perfection. My job is all about the facilitation of emotional and physical wellness, and I LOVE my job. I want people to live well and take care of themselves. I want people to enjoy the limited time they have with one another. I want to make the best of everyday, and perhaps that is the point here: making the best and the most of everyday, and living fully and simultaneously within the joy, sorrow, titillation, pain, chaos, order, surprise, and predictability. Living this way could suggest all loose ends are mostly tied at all times. To me, living this way means I don't have to fear death, necessarily. It means I've lived well, whether I live to see the next hour or the next 60 years. It means I'm celebrating life. Of course, all of this is easier said from the nosebleed seats than from the front row, I imagine. At some point, I'll get a closer look and feel and experience, and we'll see where all of these pretentious notions get me when faced with the Reaper, front and center.
And this is where maybe I'll allow a little more of the feeling from the original draft of this note to peak through. Why not? It's honest. While I already mentioned that these feelings and notions are present through both good and bad days, I originally wrote this without the sense of peace and hope and tranquility that I feel now. It was a bad day. I originally wrote that...(original draft starts here)... perhaps somewhere in me I don't believe that I deserve this life. I don't believe I am capable of living it well. I am ordinary in the midst of the extraordinary. The hobgoblins that anxiously scratch the walls of my mind suggest that I will always let people down or that people will always let me down. Perhaps it's because somewhere in me I don't believe I am worth their enduring attention or love or loyalty. Psych-speak: family of origin stuff, re-enacted throughout life's pre-insight decisions. And, fucking hobgoblins. This all sounds so pathetic.... I'm even ashamed and anxious about my thoughts of being ashamed and anxious.... but that, of course, is simply a part of depression. This is where I have a choice, and my choice will create a new light over a different path. I will remember hope, I will take care of myself and those I love, and I will continue to pass go.
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