What follows is a rather rambling, self-indulgent essay.
I’m trying to live my life fearlessly.
There’s a lot of talk, in the news, about the H1N1 virus.
Millions of people are out of work, times are tough, fear appears to be multiplying at an amazing rate.
I spent about an hour in downtown Seattle today, and I saw more ‘Jesus freaks’ than ever, carrying huge signs and preaching that the end is near.
“You can walk by me with out saying a word, Sister, but you need to pray to God now for Salvation, because the end is near,” one street corner preacher admonished me as I walked by him.
I noticed many people talking to these preachers, more than usual, and I got to thinking about fear.
And about death.
Then I thought about the Italian woman who missed her Air France 447 flight, the flight that crashed in the Atlantic, and was killed in a car crash a few days later.
As an aunt of mine told me, years ago, “when it’s your time, it’s your time.”
I’ve spent so much of my life worrying, anxiety-ridden about one thing or the other, and these days I have no patience for my lifelong angst.
It’s a waste of my time.
And worrying makes my stomach hurt, gives me intestinal gas and makes my head pound.
Truth is, I’m not gonna live forever.
Heck, I could walk to the bus stop tomorrow, fail to look to my left and right, and get hit by a car.
Or I could get cancer.
Or be attacked.
The list is endless.
I’m tired of the fear, and right now I just want to life a peaceful life, enjoy my family, and work in my chosen profession.
When death comes knocking on my door, I’ve decided that I will utter the words, “oh crap.”
And then it is my plan to let go, and hope that, after all, there is a heaven and I will walk towards the light.
On the other side of that light, I’m hoping, I will find my grandmother, mom, dad, and friends Bob and Mary, all waiting for me with outstretched arms and many happy tears.
Okay, maybe you are still reading this and think I’m full of crap (my favorite word today, it appears).
Hey, this is my death story, okay?
You each have the right to write about your own death.
Thing is, during these hard times for our world, I’m noticing that my fears are quickly decreasing.
What’s the point?
I’m going to die some day anyway, I just don’t know when or how.
Really, I do not want to know.
It’s easier that way, really and truly it is.
My relationships with my family and colleagues are super duper, I have finally learned how to just say no to effed up relationships, and I’m living my kind of life (which you all know about, since I share the boring details with you all daily).
After years upon years, I believe that I have finally learned how to face up to my fears.
Well, most days anyway.
So, to answer the street corner preacher who tried to get me to repent earlier today, I will answer now that I talk to God all the time, usually at night before I fall asleep.
Every night, I apologize for my mistakes and promise that I’ve learned better by screwing up.
I wish the few people I don’t like a long, happy, and bountiful life.
And then I thank God for another day of life.
And I promise that, if given the gift of another day of life, I will faithfully practice living life fearlessly.
End of essay.