Because Deathbed Regrets Suck

 

Dear One,

I couldn’t sleep last night.

Someone I know died last week, a friend of the family. I didn’t know her all that well, but every time I saw her, every interaction I had with her left me feeling appreciated and acknowledged.

She was so very present, her face lighting up when she saw you. She smiled big, from deep within and seemed to squeeze the joy out of life.

I don’t even know what she accomplished in life. It’s how she lived and how she left people feeling that was extraordinary.

I thought of her last night, her death yet another wake up call.

It got me thinking about life, and how you stop yourself from really living.

I know you know what I’m talking about.

Surviving is not the same as living.

It’s actually quite easy to survive, to live with all the things you’re tolerating and all the ways you’ve suppressed yourself.

But your dreams and desires for this life?

Where do they exist amidst the toleration and survival?

Maybe you talk about them a lot, but because you rarely take action you sound like the boy who cried wolf.

Maybe you write about them…at night, in your journal, when no one’s looking.

You keep them safe and locked away.

And love. Sweet, sweet soul-nourishing love.

What about it? Do you share your love, expressing it freely?

Or do you save it for the ‘appropriate’ time.

What are you waiting for?

Someone died last week and it could have been you.

This isn’t meant to sound morbid or judgmental.

But it’s heart breaking to keep watching, witnessing the struggle.

I say this because…

Struggling may be part of the human condition.

But as my friend Satya Colombo says, “don’t mistake the Battle for the Truth.”

And what I know as truth is that you’re here for something more than struggle.

You are here to shine and I don’t care how cliché that sounds.

I believe it. Wholeheartedly. Without reservation. Till I die.

Someday isn’t ever coming.

In the well-known piece The Invitation,  Oriah Mountain Dreamer says,

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.”

That’s what kept me up last night.

Someone died.

And your dreams?

Are dying every day that passes without you taking action.

Can you live with that?