The journey continues as I sort through my life and my stuff. As I was putting someone's name on a box of items, I wondered if I might be willing to simply give the things away now, before my death, rather than designating the things to be given to that person in the event of my death. I thought about all the loving words we say to each other about someone who has died, perhaps never having said them to that person while s/he was still alive -- or, at least, not recently or often enough or with enough attention. Why wait? What would it be like if we all had a memorial before we died? I suggested at work once that we pull a team member's name out of a hat each week or each month, in order to share with that person the love, respect and admiration we felt about her or him. People didn't like the idea. Back to the boxes of things: I'm not ready to give up all of my stuff.
I'm in an interesting dance with the fact of my impermanence and the impermanence of others. I will write a will before I leave the US, as well as identify my beneficiaries and answer the Five Questions about the kind of care I would and would not want in the event of serious illness or injury. I know that I could die tomorrow, today, in the next moment. I could die right here where I live now; travel outside the US is not a prerequisite for death.
What motivates me to tend to these things now is my wish to spare from unnecessary hardship the friend who has generously agreed to take on legal, financial and medical power of attorney while I'm traveling. I acknowledge the reality of my impermanence, but I plan to return. And I want certain stuff waiting for me when I do. As if I were in control of all that. I remember that, when my mom was in a Trauma Care Unit after the auto accident that killed my dad, I went from trying to control everything to "letting go of control" to "letting go of the illusion of control." Yet here it is again, that illusion of control. "Oh! when did you get back into town?" Clearly, this is a work in progress.
I have some goals for this journey. After years of sleepwalking my way through life (i.e., making "safe" choices, living small), I want to jump into the unknown. I would like to be in enough of an unknown that I naturally come face-to-face with who I am and what I bring to my life and the lives of others. How do I show up? What doors do I open? What stones do I thrown in my own and others' paths? When do I say yes, when do I say no, and why? Having spent the past two decades working in bureaucratic public sector settings, I want to volunteer in local projects in order to experience how people are taking care of themselves and each other in other parts of the world. Along the way, I'd like to become more familiar with Latin American cultures, and to bump up my Spanish and Portuguese.
In spite of the stress of my preparations -- this is not a relaxing time! -- I am aware of feeling very alive. Though I have certain goals and intentions, I don't know where this journey will take me or where I will take the journey. The unknown is both terrifying and thrilling. Many years ago, a coworker described his experience of taking a one-day sky-diving course. He said that, when it was his turn to jump, he was terrified. "But it was then, Meg, that I realized that there are two kinds of people in this world: those who are afraid, and those who are afraid and jump anyway." I want to be in the latter group.
meg 2-22-13
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