why i think about death

Want to hear me read this to you? Click below!

Sooo, yeah I think about death. A lot, actually. But maybe not for the reason you think (especially if you read my first post).

Nope. The reason I think about death as much as I do, (and let’s quantify it here and now - we’re talking most days… at least a few times each week, generally speaking) is likely at least in part because my family has lost some good ones in the past few years. But that’s not the only reason. The other reason is that thinking about death, both those I love and my own, lights a fire for me.

Do you know what I mean?

For example, my grandpa’s recent passing has me wondering things like:

  • Did he accomplish in his life what was most important to him? If not, what kept him from it, and did he wish toward the end that he could go back and change something?

  • What is most important to me that I’ve, as yet, left undone? What will it take to get me moving toward doing the damn thing, already? What if I left this life tomorrow (or next week, or next year), would the regret feel crushing to me, as I’m afraid it would?

  • Is the thing that feels most important to me, something that actually feels important to me, or is it something that’s actually a societal thing that I’ve bought into? If the latter, what’s under it? What’s actually most important to me, and what turtle steps might I be able to take toward it immediately?

Does that all make sense? Do you see where I’m going with this? The mundanity of day-to-day life can be mind-numbing, and I refuse to believe that it’s all there is, that it’s all that we’re here for. Regardless of your personal beliefs around what, if anything, comes next… I sincerely hope you feel the same… because otherwise, what’s the point of any of this?

life - truly - is short

life - truly - is short

I don’t know that I could name an age when I first noticed it… it kind of seems like it’s always been lurking around.

Haunting me.

Hunting me.

Sometimes silently stalking, and sometimes so raucous that I couldn’t hear or see anything else, including The Truth… that I am loved, and that I Am Love.

In 2017 I got a tattoo to remind me.

becoming real

becoming real

I sit here considering how to start this blog post… thinking ‘What do I actually want to say here…? What’s most important for someone to read if they’ve been feeling the way I’ve been feeling? What would I tell myself if I could step outside of myself long enough to get some perspective to then share back?’

And really, I think it’s the same thing that it always is