Used to feel so cold, I was stuck in the static
EVERYBODY DIES – The Band CAMINO
If we’re all born dyin’, what’s the point of it all?
But if the song never stopped, it wouldn’t have any magic
So even though it’s gotta end, I’ll keep singin’ along.
I feel like I’m dying.
Okay…wait…I already used that hook. Let me try that again.
The human body starts dying around the mid twenties, or so the Google Machine says. Somewhere near 25, the rate at which our new cells produce and our aging cells decay flips and we begin, in a sense, to die.
I’m 27.
So I have been dying for about two years.
And I feel it. In 2020, I developed an egg intolerance. In 2021, I got plantar fasciitis that took the better part of a year to mostly heal. In 2022, I drank and got high at a summer cookout and felt like hot garbage for two days. My body is not what it used to be and every day since I turned 25, I have been hurdling towards certain death. I still don’t have to warm up before I work out though.
I know I also talked about death in my last post. If it feels as though this blog is less about bears and more about death, hang tight because I promise the getting gets good. Also I’m depressed. We’ve gotta take what we can get.
And here’s what we get: There is a 100% chance you will die. Not a 99.9999999% Not “statistically speaking 100%.” The certainty of you dying is One. Hun. Dred.
Often, people want to use that fact the incite something. Like fear: “you’re dying! Take this pill to die slower!” Or inspiration: “you only have one life to live, so chase your dreams!” Or even apathy: “you’re going to die, so why does anything matter?” We talk about legacies, we talk about generational wealth, we talk about making something of ourselves. But the truth is, no one gets out alive. Every single person in the top 10 of the List of 100 Most Significant People in History is dead. Not even Jesus Christ himself, who was number one on that list by the way, escaped this life without tasting death.
This concept unnerved me for a long time. If no one could escape death, then how was I supposed to make my mark on the world? How was I supposed to make my short time here really mean something to people? How was I going to ensure every single person I ever encountered thought positive of me? That I was the hero in every tale? That I was seizing each and every day to its absolute fullest extent?
The reality was that I couldn’t. I couldn’t control the narratives. To my old roommate in college, I’m the royal bitch who “uninvited” her to my wedding. (The wedding which she was never invited to in the first place.) To my old boss, I’m the gal who embedded herself, almost parasitically, into the organization only to get PCS orders and leave the team “high and dry.” (I worked at a Navy base gym and all my coworkers were military.) To the lady in the Safeway parking lot, I’m the idiot in the black Jeep who was probably texting and driving and is what’s wrong with America these days. (…she’s got me there.) I could be as successful as I want, people will still find ways to say I didn’t do enough. I could give every dime I ever earned to charity, people will still question my motives. And sure, I could try and seize each day like it was my last, but that gets exhausting and I think the diem needs to carpe itself every once in a while. No matter how I play the hand, the game is going to end eventually. So why play?
This isn’t where I tell you that nothing matters and who cares and “do you” or whatever Instagram influencers say. This isn’t where I tell you each day is a gift and you should enjoy the simple things in life. This isn’t even where I tell you how unique and beautiful your life is because it is your life. No, I am simply saying we are born, we live, and we’ll die. So why overcomplicate it?
Every day that we wake up, which those of us reading this are batting near perfect for, we are faced with innumerous choices. Simple ones like what to wear and what to eat, as well as more labyrinthine natured choices such as whether or not to leave our partner. Choices on choices on choices all varying in degree and outreach. If something won’t matter in five minutes, that’s easy. But what if it will matter in five months? What about five years? That’s when things get complicated.
And I think we all get so caught up in the intricasies of would’ves and could’ves and should’ves that we forget about the only certain thing in this life. Death (and taxes.) I could be the nicest person anyone has ever met, or the worst. I’ll still die. I could stress every day about how to make as much money as humanly possible and never see a day off, or I could work soley to make enough extra cash that I can fly home to see my friends for a week this summer. I’ll still die. But you know what? Being nice and seeing my friends seems like a way more enjoyable way to spend the dash between the two dates on my headstone.
The bad news is we are all dying.
The good news is we are all dying.
The best news is we are not dead yet.
Surely that’s gotta count for something.
The Year of the Bear 