Insight

I’ve just had the realization that I’m dying. Not in the philosophical sense like wow I’m going to inevitably die. I’ve realized that I think I’m dying, or I wish to be dying or maybe that I’m most comfortable on death row. It may be something obvious that strangers will now say, thank god the dumb bitch finally figured it out. But I just realized I live my life like I’m counting my days, my days as a woman, as a mother, as a human being.

I guess for some time I’ve realized that I am hyper aware of the impermanence of things, but I never realized that I might have something in common with cancer patients, middle aged men on sinking ships, suicidal teenage girls. Ok, maybe not all of them. But I have this thing where I smell the roses, touch my children, talk about how short a time we have, too too much. It is an exhausting way to live. I have often wished to be someone who is joyfully unaware of all these things. Of how important life is and how quickly, quietly and often unexpectedly it goes. It is the unexpectedness of it all that I think I dread most. It is the reason I am peeking around every corner. It is the reason I say a prayer at every turn. I hate the idea that everything will disappear. I am sure it will happen in the moment I feel the most love for my children, the most joy for this amazing life I have been given. So while I try my damdest to soak up this life, I’m holding my breathe the whole time. I never really have that moment, where I lose myself to the utter joy – the second I feel it coming on I look over my shoulder for strangers, check the distance for looming tidal waves. Balance is most elusive for me. How do I appreciate all this without being afraid to lose it? I just don’t fucking know. What I know is that I’m counting my days. Numbers often distract a person. Addition, multiplication. While that side of my brain is working overtime, I’m missing the paintings, the waterfalls, the moments where everything lets go and there is nothing to think about but now.