Thinking about death daily changes how you live…
I think about death every single day…
I think about the world and how it will be when I am no longer here… in form.
I think about the last breath version of me and I am in touch with what she’s saying…
What she wishes; what she cares about; what’s important to her.
I made a promise with her—to not let her die before its her time—and I decide from that place.
I don’t rush her. I smile at her ideas, her worries, and her fears—knowing that she’s onto something beautiful, brilliant, and true.
From a young age, I thought about this often.
Not about dying—about death—and my relationship to it.
That things don’t last—people don’t last—and to truly know what matters. And how everything that you see is perishable. How everyone you meet is perishable. We are not here for long yet we behave as if we will be.
And rather than focusing on that, to fully immerse and cherish every single moment of life—in life—while we’re still here. The faces we see won’t be the faces we see again—the eyes, the voice, the laughs—none of it—so I don’t take life lightly. I stare right into the death of things which allows me to be right there—in it—in the heart of things. And live to tell a story that gets to live on.
This is mostly unspoken. I see the shock and fear in people’s eyes when speaking of dying. That (only) means there’s still life in them awaiting to be lived. A dream unfulfilled. An ember with a simmer.
I knew this early on—which is why I’ve always lived in a way that ‘looked’ so very untraditional yet necessary for my own path. To quit the job the moment the idea entered my mind. To part ways in the relationship “for no reason” other than to honor both Souls. To take a chance and look ‘crazy’, while redefining what that actually means. To ‘blindly’ leap into the absolute unknown. To start the business, messy. To do the thing, anyway. Whatever it is. However it looks. The moment it enters, you have a chance—a choice—for the idea to become alive. It was never meant to die within you. The dream. The song. The book. The business. The words. The music. The conversation……
Along the way, something happens that’s truly so heartbreaking. We die—it dies—before we get a chance to experience it. Whatever it is.
And death expresses itself in many different forms; I’ve always seemed to know that.
When I was a young girl, I experienced loss in different ways that have shown me a different way.
There’s something that happens within a child—a being—that’s unspoken—a reorganization of some sort—that absolutely changes her—forever—when she experiences loss, regardless of the form. It allows one to see the world differently. To move within it differently. To live more fully. Deeply. Truly. Completely.
Whether it’s her parent’s grieving their fathers within the same year and not knowing how to keep their hearts alive and available for each other.
A young girl going into her womanhood without her mom—looking for answers—and watching her dad do his absolute best.
A teenager witnessing the death of her greatest friend before her eyes and wishing she would have closed them.
An unspoken conversation that ‘could have changed everything’ or not.
A goodbye without a goodbye.
There are no small heartaches.
And so, my relationship to grief has been necessary. To love relentlessly has been necessary. To understand and experience pain has been necessary. To forgive and to love, anyway, has been necessary.
In each moment, something has the chance to live and die.
A person.
A pattern.
A relationship.
An idea.
A way of life.
So it’s so very important to know how very important you are. And how very important it is that you sing the song. That you write the book. Cherish those before you. You cherish yourself. You begin today. You send the email. Paint the canvas. Hop on the plane. Have the conversation. Have the conversation. Have the conversation.
Make the choice.
Not because you can. Because you must.
So you must get in touch, so there isn’t one moment unlived; not one wish unfulfilled; not one dream that goes unacknowledged; not one word unspoken…… while you’re still here.
This is a prayer.
May it be answered.
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Take a moment in silence and drop your shoulders. Place your hand on your heart and breath for a moment. Allow yourself to arrive.
Reflect on what you just read and ask your heart: what’s true for me?
You don’t need to plan your entire life right now in this moment—this is more about being in relationship to this moment. Allow it to be a dear friend to you—for you—and whatever arrives, let it be so.
A moment in silence (AMIS) allows the connection and clarity for you to trust yourself: the decisions you make, will make, and the inner knowing you have within. Don’t worry about the voice wavering or as fear appears.
Whatever arrives, let it be a message. Information, rather. There’s nothing you need to do. AMIS’s show you that you already know what you must do.
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Take out a journal and write about anything that’s coming up for you after reading this.
Once you do that, you may reflect on the following:
(These are invitations and inquiries. Just know, the reflection alone is enough.)
What’s true for me?
What’s the story I would love to tell in a month, year, 10-years from now?
What decisions do I get to make?
When I make them, what will best support me?
Bless you.
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The ARMS Method guidebook is a 4-step process to help you get clear on what needs ‘changing’ and how to surrender to it.
It guides you from were you are between:
Accept/Deny
Own/Blame
Choose/Refuse
Trust/Control
With this, it will help you move towards the ‘left’ side of the pole which helps you remain in alignment with the life you see for yourself.
Enjoy.
