If not, it’s time for a change. Let me say that again: If you don’t cherish your every day, your moment-to-moment, gift your dear self with the space to sit with the truth of that. Don’t avert your eyes. Listen to your beloved self speaking that profound honesty-to-self.
You don’t have forever. You could die later today. (If you don’t believe it, ask yourself if anyone dear to you has ever shocked you by coming to an early demise, long before ever you could have imagined their disappearance from your life.)
Perhaps this is the moment you hold the mirror to your own face.
We aren’t here to work, to survive another day. To put up with one thing and another that drains us, that does not nourish, delight, make us giggle, tear up with joy. We are here to enjoy, to have fun. To (above every other thing) love.
* * *
Last summer I had six hummingbirds that flitted around the feeder I’d hung on the porch. They buzzed and dive-bombed one another and flew in and out with breakneck speed. (Did you know that in their tiny chests their wee hearts beat a thousand times each minute?) Utterly fearless, these creatures. I’ve had them zoom straight to my face, hover inches before me, as if to say into my gobsmacked eyes What on earth are YOU? (Such a privilege, that proximity!)
This summer there are two hummers. Next year . . . sigh. So what else is there but for me to linger out on my porch for as long as I can manage. To watch when they come. Because this one right here may be the last I’ll ever have the privilege of seeing. So I slow the hell down, pay attention. Grieve? No, not yet: the time for that will surely come. No, I celebrate the breathtaking beauty before me, the ferocity. What else can we do?
* * *
Looking all of this in the face can feel like a death. Oh, but it also can feel like a freshening spring morning, a waking up, a realization that life actually could be different. Better! Altogether worth living. Never mind (for now), the how of it. Just seeing the truth of how things are now — maybe have been, for so long you cannot recall a before — even slowing down enough to let all of that register in your beloved heart . . . Well, someday in the not-too-distant future, you may well look back on what you’ll see as a moment of truth and bow your dear head in gratitude.
You just might cry. With relief? Maybe. Regret? Don’t bother. (It’s a waste of life.) Maybe the tears will be gratitude leaking from your living eyes. Your not-done-yet eyes.
Tell me this: have you ever gazed upon someone else (perhaps someone important to you) and lamented how they were “wasting their life”? Perhaps this is the moment you hold the mirror to your own face.
* * *
Ask yourself (when you can summon the courage) this question: Do I habitually do things as a means to an end? So I can . . . get to the other side. Rest. Have fun. Be by myself for a bit. Or maybe so I can generate financial “security.” (As if.) Or impress others. Get my partner/parents/best friend off my back. Get a raise, a promotion. Do nothing at all.
Maybe it’s time to get off your own back!
If we’re not willing to look, it’s entirely possible nothing will ever change. Then the last breath comes, and the wondering How come I never saw this before?
Never mind the “how” of it. It will come to you all on its own. It will whisper to you when you’re washing your face, or dropping off to sleep. Or pushing yourself so hard to get things done, do them better, have somebody else APPRECIATE YOU, for once! Perhaps a tender little whisper that means you only well (does it have the ring of your own voice?) will say, You deserve to live a life of delight.
Please, oh please, listen to me. Listen to your heart.
* * *
Do you know any animals? What we call “pets”? Or do you observe someone else’s beloved creatures? Perhaps you have the privilege to observe animals in the wild, even in a city: birds soaring above, mice skittering, deer munching on yummy grass, spiders with egg sacs on their industrious backs, bees sipping from flowers somebody has allowed to keep growing. They are the finest teachers in immediacy. Be their students.
Do other animals (for we too are their kin) “know” their lives to be brief? Maybe not (but what do I know? nothing so far). But we do know that about ourselves. Our minds are both a torment — perhaps you’ve noticed — and a blessing. Those organs in our noggins have the ability to remember, to anticipate. To learn. To note trends, to see that it’s been a long time since there was a deep resting. A savoring, a giggly delight.
They can say: Okay, it’s time for a change. Oh yes (perhaps you’ve noticed) they can also say . . . I don’t want to look this in the face. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow. On and on it goes.
Then the life stops. Chances have run out.
It ain’t over yet, my love. Know how I can tell? You’re reading these words right now. Taking them into your beloved heart. Your oh-so-brief heart. Have fun! I will if you will. It’s a deal.
P.S. – Had you been thinking that the purpose of life is to “wake up”? What on earth is it to be awake but to be with what’s happening now? (So funny, eh?) And one last thing: soon you will be receiving an announcement for an in-person event I’m offering in Vermont this September.