Midlife and Mortality
Time keeps on slipping...into the future (shout out to the Steve Miller Band)
*Trigger warning*: Discussion about death
A couple of weeks ago I was planning the content for this newsletter and going over a list of the topics I had written down. I heard about the death of actor Lance Reddick and was taken aback hearing he died of natural causes at the age of 60. Sixty.
I’m 54 and when I entered my fifth decade thoughts of my mortality started to swirl more frequently in my head. Thoughts that more of my life was behind me than in front of me and what had I REALLY done with these years so far. 🤔
Last week I had the wind absolutely knocked out of me. A friend of nearly 30 years passed away suddenly. No warning. We used to work together, partied together, he came to church and held my youngest daughter as she was being christened when she was six months old, he once laughingly used his AAA service to have my car rekeyed when silly me lost the only set I had, he opened his home to me and my then new husband back in 2017 when we went on our honeymoon. He wasn’t just a friend, he was family. And to speak of him in the past tense makes me dizzy and nauseous. My stomach churns into firey swirling knots, my mouth goes dry, and I intensely feel the beating of my heart quicken in my chest. He didn’t make it to his fifth decade.
A high school classmate once posted on her Facebook page “I’m living a blessed life, but am I living my best life?” (shout out to Felicia) You would think these were one and the same but they’re not. Living a blessed life could mean you eat every day, have a safe place to live, and have a job that pays your bills. Pretty standard. But are you able to experiment with your food palate, live in your dream home and work not just on a job but working in the purpose that lights you up, pays you extraordinarily well, and is setting up a legacy for your future generations? Since losing my friend last week, the above question has really crystallized in my mind over the past several days.
When we lose someone, especially someone who we believe left us far too soon, we obviously think about our own lives. What we’ve done, what we haven’t done, promises we’ve broken, especially to ourselves. I’m 54 and I don’t know how to swim, I’ve never been out of the country even though I served in the military for six years. When I tell people that they, of course, ask with befuddled expressions on their faces “How can that be?” It’s a long and short story that I’ll save for another time. There are so many things I haven’t done because I’ve let fear or laziness stop me. One minute you think you have all the time in the world, and the next Father Time is walking behind you tapping the watch on his wrist reminding you you’re 54 years old and don’t have a passport. ⏲️
I’m not going to bore you with all the usual platitudes that come with reflecting after the death of someone:
Life is too short
Tell those you love that you love them today
Tomorrow isn’t promised
Start living your best life now
The truth is we feel this way for a moment then we slide knowingly or unknowingly back into obscurity. I was listening to a lecture that Les Brown was giving a few years ago. He told the audience to imagine they’re on their deathbed and all the goals and dreams they never worked on were standing around them with large angry eyes and saying “We were supposed to come this way through you, now we must die with you.” What. An Image. There are books that are waiting to come this way through me. There is an amazing writing career waiting to come this way through me. A legacy of service, opulence, and philanthropy to secure my future generations is waiting to come this way through me. What’s waiting to come this way through you? What book, what business, what idea, WHAT THING is burning (or rotting) inside of you waiting to come this way through you? Reply, I’d like to know.
Last week reminded me that we don’t know the day nor the hour and it feels like God was really getting in my face on this one, and I’m truly frightened to miss the mark this time. Let the thought of midlife and mortality fuel you into action and not frighten you into unproductive submission. Ronald, I pray you had a safe and peaceful transition, I love you to pieces and I will continue to hold you in my heart until we see each other again. ❤️
Thank you for service!!
We’re going to miss you Hercules!! Everything you mentioned is on point; definitely points to ponder and a call to action! Never too soon or it’ll be too late..either way it’s a decision we must make! My condolences 💐