BAM! Mortality!

The other day I went for a road trip with my good friend, Mick Bauer. Totally his real name. Not a pseudonym.  Mick is a particular guy, and (by his own admission) is having a bit of a mini mid life crisis (a MMLC) . Which he is handling… soberly. So, no affairs or sports cars or motorcycles or skydiving or face tattoos… Mick instead has been staring straight at his own mortality.

Mick’s been working out his mini mid life crisis with paper and pencil. Like ya do. Mick purchased some quality graphing paper. He counted out 52 columns (for weeks) along the Y axis, and 90 rows (for years) along the X axis. And then he began shading. Meticulous shading. One shaded square for every week of his life spent so far.

Mick then proceeded to tell me how he thoughtfully made a chart for his wife and child, too.

I asked Mick to never get me anything again.

…

There’s usually a thing behind the thing, and this is no exception. My friend just celebrated a milestone birthday, he’s recently started a job at a new company in unfamiliar territory. He’s begun to question long held beliefs. And perhaps most importantly, one of our mutual friends, an exceptionally alive and vibrant and present individual, was just diagnosed with cancer. Weeks later a friend, a mentor and inspiration to Mick, died suddenly of a heart attack.

Bam! Mortality.

Now, if you already don’t like this post, I don’t blame you. But hang in there. That’s the point.

I didn’t like hearing this story. Mick’s a little older than me, but not so much older than our partially shaded sheets wouldn’t look extremely similar. The mental picture of a sheet nearly half shaded was – and is – enough to make me squirm.  And that’s assuming 90 rows on the X column. Which is a big assumption.

It’s not an original idea that western society is especially infatuated with avoiding death in all it’s forms. But it’s true. We don’t like to face our own mortality. As a nursing student I still vividly remember the first time I printed up a toe tag and grabbed a body bag for a patient who had passed. It seemed so strange to keep those supplies next to the surgical scissors, or dressing supplies. I don’t know how I ever managed to start in a profession where I interact with the sickest of the sick, and still remain ignorant to the realities of death.

It’s now been over a week since Mick told me this story. So now there is one more shaded square then there was before. One more shaded square that will not be erased, can not be redone. This is redundant to say, but it’s completely true. Each week that passes shades in one more square on his chart. And on mine. And on yours.

Which brings me to the bigger problem, as I see it.

…

How did you spend your last week?

If you’re like me, the last time someone asked you how your week was, you probably answered something socially acceptable… and then realized you had very little memory of the recently past days. In addition to such non committal and automatic responses such as “good” and “fine”, we’d probably laugh and say “busy” or “crazy”.  

‘Busy’ doing what?

‘Crazy’ doing what?

Because the uncomfortable truth is, that week is going to pass – that box is going to be shaded-  remarkable or not. Aware of it or not. Awake to it or not.

In 1854, Henry David Thoreau published his book, “Walden: or Life In The Woods”. Thoreau spent  two years, two months and two days living in the woods on the shore of Walden Pond within Concord, Massachusetts, making observations about his current society, the natural world, and the inner life. It’s a weird book that I’ve only skimmed the surface of. But the oft quoted conclusion of the book has absolutely captured me. In the final paragraph, Thoreau admonishes his audience that “the light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn”.

If you were feeling a bit tight around the chest with the mental picture of the shaded boxes, Thoreau’s admonishment may even turn the screws. The un-shaded squares ahead of us, they’re not really there. Not unless we are brave enough to take them. Unless we are brave enough to be present and awake in them.

And what does it mean to be awake to our life?  I might point you towards Brene Brown’s books and seminars on what her research shows are the qualities of those living a wholehearted life. Rob Bell has some excellent words on how putting down our phone can help us avoid endless distraction from moment to moment.  It might start with a quiet walk alone once a week. It might start with a journal. It might even begin with a beautiful question to focus on and be shaped around. The call to be awake and present in our life is both simple and complex. Expansive. A life’s work. The life’s work of many, even.

For now, just for the moment, perhaps we can sit with the problem, without jumping to our quickest solution. Perhaps for the moment it is enough to look at that half shaded sheet and know, with absolute certainty, that we do not want to shade in one more square in distraction, unaware and asleep.

Because there may be many unshaded squares ahead of us. “There is more day to dawn”…

If we’re awake.