good morning

take a deep breath

another

From the moment we're forced out into the world, wailing and covered in fluid, until the moment we expire, our heart going quiet, our breath is there with us.

When I posted this on Facebook, my dad wrote:

Thinking about my mortality is not high on my list right now, son. But thanks for the invite...I guess. :)

But, you know, whether we want to think about it or not, we ARE going to die.

Every single one of us, here one moment, gone the next.

And yet.

Most of just keep on keeping on, until suddenly, it’s too late. Why?

We keep putzing around on the internet. Why?

We make promises to ourselves that we don’t keep. Why?

The truth is, change is hard. Really, really, REALLY hard.

We are status quo creatures.

Our genes don’t care if we live life to the fullest.

If genes can be said to ‘want’ anything, they just want to propagate. And the safest way to do that is for the organism to seek stasis and safety.

Lower risk equals increased odds of survival.

Continued survival equals increased odds of propagation.

How’s that for some inspiration?

And yet.
How many times have you heard the story of the man who faced death and found new meaning in life? Or the woman who hiked a thousand miles and emerged reborn at the far end of the journey? The monk who gave up all of his worldy possessions to live a life of devotion? Or the soldier who gave up all of her comfort to serve the ideals of freedom and democracy?

Can you remember the days, and weeks, and months after the terror attacks of September, 11, 2001? Yes, there was fear. Yes, there was reactionary racism. Yes, political opportunists sought to take away liberties and exert more control. But there was also a sense of unity and neighborly generosity that many thought had been eradicated from the fabric of American life.

Whether or not you agree with the underlying ideology represented in each of the stories above, there are larger unifying patterns:
Struggle begets purpose.
Adversity breeds community.
Even the deepest suffering can lead to joy.

For all that we seek stasis, history shows us again and again that the real magic happens out on the fringes of experience. Safety and stasis is the common aspiration, but it’s only through the uncommon and the extraordinary that we find inspiration.

Which begs the question: Must we always meet death before we’re willing to take a risk and actually live?

I believe the answer is yes.

You can be in stasis for 100 years, safe and protected and biologically alive, but when the time comes, you'll still die. Without ever having really lived.

But maybe we don’t need to wait for death to come to us in the form of some disease or disaster.

Maybe we can approach the specter of our finitude, greet it as a lifelong companion, and embrace the gift that is our life.

Take it in our hands, and hold it close, and cherish the precious moment that is us, right here, right now.

Because you just as easily might never have been born at all.

One of my mentors once said to me, ‘Your wound is your gift.’ What she didn’t know about me at the time is that I have carried the scar of a deep wound since almost the day I was born. When she spoke these words, they cut through me like the scalpel that once cut through my skin before the doctors could stitch me back together again.

I was born with a condition called pyloric stenosis. Basically, my stomach was pinched shut, and I couldn’t even drink my mother’s milk. I was two weeks old, and I was literally starving to death. Today, the condition is well understood, and with proper diagnosis, never fatal. But thirty-seven years ago, when I was born, it wasn’t that simple.

My surgery didn’t go well. I was in the hospital for ten days, my stomach cut wide open, the wound swollen and infected. Two weeks old, and every day my parents lived with the possibility that I wouldn’t make it through to the next day. But I did make it. Thanks to my incredible doctor’s and nurses, thanks to the love of my family, thanks to all those around me who care for me and supported me, I’m still here to write about it.

It didn’t end there, though. When I was in middle school, I grew ashamed of the vicious scar on my stomach. It marked me as different. As weaker. I hated going to the beach or going swimming. I felt embarrassed and exposed. Well into my teenage years, I refused to go anywhere where I might have to remove my shirt.

But my mentor helped me understand that my scar is literally my proof of life.

A reminder that I might never have been here at all, and that I have been gifted with the time to do something, however small, that can leave the world better for my having been here.

Each of us carries scars. Some of them are physical, visible on the skin. Others are buried deeper. The emotional and spiritual record of battles fought and challenges overcome. Of loved ones lost and dreams still to be realized. These scars run deep, and they weigh heavy. They are a part of us. We cannot erase them. But we don’t need to erase them. We have the power to determine how our scars will define us.

We can see them as a mark of our weakness and difference, as I once did, or we can claim them as a mark of our strength, as a testament to the fact that, whatever life throws at us, we are still here, and grateful to be alive. This is our time. Right here. Right now. And this is it. This is all we get.

But as long as we’re alive, we all carry the fundamental potential to redefine ourselves. It is never too late to learn from the past. To embrace change, in spite of our craving for security and stasis

What scars do you carry? They are your proof of life.
What wounds have yet to heal? Do what you must to heal them. What pain are you hiding from? It is time to stop turning away.

For here is where you will find your greatest gift.