Yesterday, I woke up to three emails and one text from people in my circles who had just lost loved ones within the last week. I also received news of a family friend having a stroke and another one having a heart attack. I know death and sickness happen every day, but there is something about the Fall season that mirrors the fragility of life.
This awareness of life’s fragility has been with me for so long, yet I still need daily reminders.
I remember, in high school and college, watching classmates do stupid things (yes, this is a judgmental opinion) as they drank absurd amounts or chose to harm or objectify their bodies in many ways. It was hard for me to understand why people would distress their bodies. Their health? (Noting that even when you do take care of your health to the best of your ability, nothing is guaranteed)
As a 9-year-old girl, the “C” word came into my life. I lost my godmother to her battle with breast and ovarian cancer. As an 11-year-old girl, I watched my mother undergo intensive chemotherapy for her Leukemia, which bought her only a decade more on this planet. I was 15 years old when my sister was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and then I was 21 years old when the same diagnosis arrived on my doorstep.
Life is short and oh-so-precious. I have learned this in my own body and witnessed it around me. I am sure you have too!
Even on the days that feel shitty and tough. Even during those periods of life where deep rupture and re-birth are happening are precious, life is a gift not to be wasted.
When I catch myself scrolling mindlessly before I meditate in the mornings, I gently ask myself, is this how I want to spend my time? I pause. I look up and around me. I connect to my environment—usually looking out the window to see the trees and nature. Or I make eye contact with my husband. I re-ground to three-dimensional life that is around and inside of me.
Living life doesn’t just mean doing cool things that better the world. For me, it means being present for it.
Feeling fresh air in my lungs. Rain on my face. Observing golden and red leaves shifting colors and shapes. It means not having my phone at the dinner table so that I can be present to listen and share. It means calling and texting my friends weekly. It means telling the people I love how much they mean to me—not being afraid to be vulnerable and share my heart. It means prioritizing time with the people I care about and letting go of the excess just because I feel a need to people-please.
This month, as we begin to watch the leaves die, I welcome us all to live.
Nothing teaches us more about living than death.
What would help you feel the most alive today? What have you been wanting to prioritize but have put off for various reasons and excuses that our human minds tend to do? What would support you feeling alive before the end of 2023?