One More Perspective

What is the definition of end of life?  Last breath?  Last heartbeat?  Sure, between medical science and legal frameworks there is a perfectly repeatable approach to determining one’s death.  What if your heart and lungs and those other vital organs are autonomically doing their thing but your spiritual heart and soul are not interested in the dawn of another day?  What status is that in the land of the living?

“Things couldn’t be any worse!” cried Anelle in Steel Magnolias, to which seasoned realist Ouiser said:  “Of course they can!”  This backwards form of gratitude Ouiser reminds us of, if we can consider it that, has become what keeps me going. 

Yes, I am clinically alive.  I can even muster up an accounting of things for which I’m definitely grateful (like this tough-old physical spacesuit I am in), but that is about it for now.  This transition is still very heavy, but that’s the worthwhile part, the squeezing through to the other side. 

I must say I have thought in years past shit was hitting the fan, but this is a brand new variety of that.  It doesn’t feel dramatic this time, nor unbearable.  It feels oddly merciful, even familiar, and convincingly permanent.  This new phase is inviting me not to over-engineer it, but instead to simply breathe because this knot hole is vitally necessary and the only thing in it I can control is my own behavior.  (Too bad I couldn’t deeply learn and live in accordance with this knowledge years past.)

I feel a pull to not perform, but to be diligently present instead, warts and all.  The more I repeat in my head the inventory of all I’ve done painfully poorly with consequences borne by the three people I love the most, the more another voice arises, the one that says it will help no one if I allow this shame to become my identity.  I feel compelled to push forward, to grow beyond. 

Old white guy references are so easy to find, but I’ll just let this one be here, as it does cover what I feel is next for me.  Now that I understand the ways my first fifty years of life impacted others, I have only one choice from here:  to own it.  I must take accountability of the past and from that space, interact with the present.  I must architect a life that facilitates me to live from that accountability and to recognize and avoid relationships that pull me back into diminishing dynamics.  Life isn’t asking me to proceed as a further curated version of me.  It’s compelling me to embrace my own nature, earned inner wisdom and to live authentically while maintaining the vulnerability required for connection.  For me, it’s a brand new way of moving about the universe and diligently minding my energy and impact.  It will take time to not feel like this way of existing is like walking on ice in boat shoes.  Still, I’m hopeful and feel grateful that I genuinely have no expectations of what the coming years will look like and who will be along for the journey.  I see this as the reason to keep getting up every morning.