Life is for living!
And how I'd rather be whole, than good
Hello. This post is about Death.
It feels as though there’s a lot at play this week. A lot on my mind. I’m in the process of wrangling a whole host of experiences, observations, truths, beliefs, disappointments, and joys. I guess I could just say that I am living.
I read an online interaction a week or two ago which weighed heavily on me. I won’t direct you to it, there’s no need, I feel no malice towards the individuals involved and they’re both fully entitled to their own, unique relationships with Death. This is entirely about my own, internal experience and response to their conversation, which went a little something like this:
Individual 1: Do you ever think about death?
Individual 2: No, hardly ever, I don’t see the need
Individual 1: That’s good that you don’t think about it, life is for living! I’m happy for you
Individual 2: Hell yeah it is!
It was interesting to note how physical my response to this was. I think I actually slumped, my torso collapsing, my heart recoiling, literally backing away from the words. There was a lot going on. It was partly self-judgement, a part of me felt ashamed, my worst fears confirmed—“See, there is something wrong with you, no one should think about Death this much”, while another part just felt…sad. And for a while that was as far as I could get; the interaction made me feel sad.
Eventually, I realised that what was causing the sadness was the fact that the conversation implied that Death is somehow not a part of life—and that if you are thinking about, or engaging with, Death, then you are somehow not living.
To me, this feels equivalent to saying “It’s good that you don’t think about birth! Life’s for living!” or “It’s good that you don’t think about Winter, life’s for living!”.