What is a life? We have it, and we call it being alive. And then we don't have it, and we call that being dead.
I spend most of my life thinking about all of the things I want to do, plan to do, need to do, and feeling lazy/nervous/like a loser that it's not all happening quicker, and more clearly. To be honest, I have spent much of my young time questioning if I am already too old to achieve my goals, and if I am perhaps a person destined for a life of mediocrity. It has
not been until the last couple of years that I have started to
understand that personal happiness is a part of life goals that shows itself in the form of many things. It's the job you keep day to day, the relationship you have with your partner, the relationships you have with the people you let into your life, the sweet playtime with your awesome dog, buying a home, going on a trip, building something, having a goddamned hobby, being brave minute to minute, payig millions of bills on time, getting up early, sleeping well, nutrition, vitamins, books, blah blah blah. So many little fucking things that are JUST AS important as being a fucking revolutionary in your art. Needless to say it has been amazing to open up to all of these thugs. These little facets. These parts of a larger body we attribute to being a "life".
Well, it's almost my birthday. By this age I was certain i would be famous, influential, or at least not still working in a restaraunt. But this isn't about my life. And I can whine about that later.
Someone special died today. (no, not minute bol, though I am sure he was quite special). My best friends dad left the world with the memory of his humor, tenacity, stoicness, wisdom, and sweet energy this afternoon. And people die, I know. I am starting to get that by now. Like a sad hammer hitting me over the head again and again andagainandagain. But each time I have to think about life and death
and what the fuck this all is all over again. This person was so great. And not the way I ask myself to be great. He had tangible goals, enjoyed things as they happened, and ate a hot dog when he felt like it. He did not sit around telling himself thathis life was this untangiable thing. He grabbed it by the throat and did it. In a sweet and respectable way of course. He was a father to me
in many times that I needed one. And even when I didn't, and just stayed on his couch, made His son drive me to doctor's appointments, and watch marathons on his extended cable tv, he was still there for me. Infalliable. The man had a lot to give. And he did, without expectation or acknowledgement. A truely great man.
So I don't mean to go on and on, or wax blasé sentimental about someone who can't even see it, but it is makingme think. HE is making me think. What is a life? I guess I don't really know yet. If a life is what I've defined it as for myself it is an untangiable, unsatisfied machine. And maybe it should be something you hold onto while you have
it. Something you appreciate, for whatever it is. And that doesn't mean you have to get too comfortable in it and stop
reaching for more, but you can really embrace the reality of what's happening, the people you're with, and how you show gratitude.
Beacuse we are not owed this life.
We get it for a time, and then it's gone. Nothing waits for us to be ready to dive into it.
So, excused, if I sound like something oprah says or something you read in "new christian's monthly", but I am thankful that this man is making the question relevant.
What is a life? It's the only thing you have, and everything else is a part of it's one, big, short thing.
Thank you, Gene.
