This post is dedicated in loving memory to the beautiful soul of Deirdre McParland. May we all be so blessed to have a person in our lives whose support, generosity and innate ability to nurture knows no bounds.
There may be no greater evidence of a generational divide than how people of different decades view the topics of health and longevity.
While younger populations have developed a seeming obsession with prevention and preservation, those who have come before us remain devout to a mindset of thoroughly enjoying their time on this planet.
Even if – and sometimes especially when – there are potential risks associated with doing so.
This contrast recently played out during a conversation with my own father, where we were discussing the parameters surrounding his recently diagnosed heart condition. While it is, thankfully, something that can be managed via medication, I couldn’t help but make the argument for supplementing with some lifestyle changes.
My father wasn’t having it, shaking his head at me like a stubborn child, as I referenced exercise guidelines and foods to avoid.
And then, to hammer home his point, and leading with my first name for extra impact, he looked across the table at me and said:
“Suzanne, we all start dying the day we are born.”
Mic drop.
I sat there stunned without words to counter. Sure, my father just effectively shut down our argument with one sentence.
But above that (and please don’t tell him I said this), he was right.
His words have resided in my head ever since. So much more powerful than a simple “carpe diem” or the trite rally cry of “you only live once,” his sentiment reframes our reality in a way that truly puts the emphasis on living.
Because what would you do – or not do – if you had the courage to acknowledge your days were numbered on this earth?
Because they are.
What would you make time for? How would you rearrange your schedule, guilt-free, fueled by the resolve that every minute left was yours and yours alone?
Conversely, what would you decide you no longer had time to be bothered with? What obligations would you drop because they really don’t serve you?
And who would you drop because they are taking up precious space in your life, adding toxicity to the air you only have a number of days left to gulp up?
Maybe you’d opt to do more. See more. Learn more. Maybe you’d opt to actually do less.
The underlying theme is that it likely would be much easier to give yourself the permission to do what you please, what you need if it was prefaced by the undeniable fact that you were dying.
There would undoubtedly be no questions asked.
So while you might think this all sounds morbid, I’d like to point out that the fact that we typically don’t talk about our own mortality is from where our problems stem.
In our pursuit of curating an ideal of what we think it means to be alive – aligning accomplishments, commitments, relationships, affiliations – we’ve lost scope of how many of these things would quickly lose their clout if we found out we’d soon be dead.
I did some basic math this morning: If I’m blessed enough to live another 50 years, that means I have 18,250 days left to fill as I choose.
I had to do the calculation several times. I was expecting a bigger number.
I thought there would be more time.
But now, I realize that every day I rise, that number will have begun its descent downward.
And it doesn’t scare me, but rather empowers me to unabashedly, unapologetically fill my time with whatever pours me full.
Because we all start dying the day we are born.
