Life is a fragile thing.
Recently, a friend of mine lost a very good friend of theirs. He was only twenty years old, and it was a shocking and sudden death.
During the early hours of this morning, my twenty-one year old cousin had a terrible car accident that he miraculously walked away from almost entirely unscathed.
We’ve both been in shock over the respective news. It’s a difficult thing to process, death. Life, too. They’re different sides of the same coin, both extreme in their own rights. And sometimes it doesn’t seem more than a coin flip truly decides whether you live or die. My gran always says, “What’s for you, won’t go past you” and I think I really believe that. It’s just a terrible shame when it’s for someone who’s so despairingly young.
You hear about things like this all the time, those occasions where someone was late getting to the train station, and they missed their train, only for it to crash or derail half an hour later before it’d even reached its next stop. It makes you wonder about mortality, and the hierarchy of the world. Is there some greater power at work here?
I’m not sure I believe in God, but I don’t really think that I can chalk everything up to coincidence either. Fate and destiny are thrown around to vicariously for me to wonder what the implications of those terms could have on what I mean.
It’s safer just to say “What’s for you won’t go past you” and believe that that is so, for whatever reason.
I often think about my own death. There are things that I don’t want – that I imagine anyone doesn’t want – but I’m not afraid of death.
I don’t want to die before I’ve seen New Zealand.
I don’t want to die before my mother, because it would break her heart.
I don’t want to have a prolonged death.
I don’t want to have a stupid death, like “tripped over own feet and fell headlong into a river.”
I don’t want to die over something I could have prevented.
I don’t want to die in a way that would make someone feel guilty, such as a car accident where I was the passenger.
I don’t want to die wishing there was something I’d done.
It makes me feel bolder about my trip, contemplating death. It reminds me that I’ve made the right choice. I shouldn’t live in a place that doesn’t make me happy. I shouldn’t sit through a life that doesn’t motivate me. I should write at every chance I get, because maybe documenting this will make me feel like I’ve impacted the world somehow.
I know that I’ll be remembered by the people who matter most, and I don’t need life-long recognition from the rest of the world to feel like I’ve accomplished something, but I do want to enter people’s lives, and I want to be known as the person who did what they wanted with their life.
I can’t mope.
I can’t whine.
I must do, to the best of my ability, all that I want to do.
Live Long and Prosper.