Someone I met once passed away this week. He was younger than me. He was brilliant. He was one of those giant personalities that I endlessly admire. He created something amazing with a piece of software I spent more than a third of my life promoting. Watching him was like watching a composer. He was fluid, he was magical. His time here was short but he made something out of it. Something people fell in love with. And now he’s gone and there is a little less light in this world. And I’m sad.
It isn’t that I knew him very well. It is just a reminder that death happens. And I’m afraid to die. It’s something I don’t talk about very much, but it’s always there under the surface for me. When I thought I was going to lose my dad and started seeing a grief counselor, we talked endlessly about my fears and how much I don’t really even understand the concept of people not being there anymore. I’ve lost exactly 4 people close to me in my life, including two great grandparents, and gone to just one funeral. I just don’t have a lot of experience with death – other than the constant threat that my dad was not going to be here at some point, and that feels like the end of my world. He’s my most favorite person in the world…how could he not be here at some point? When an accused murderer tried to push his way into my living room, I thought for weeks “what if that had been it for me?” My fear of dying is deeply rooted in not living enough. Not seeing enough. Not saying enough. Not finding the love of my life and being a mom. Not having as many experiences as I’d like to have before all of a sudden there is no more me. Or what if something happens and I can’t fly or walk or gallivant all over cities like I want because I’m not healthy enough? It scares me horribly. And then, what is left when I’m gone? Did I make a difference in this world? Will people remember me? Will they grieve and then move on and then as months and years go by it was like I was never even on this planet? That’s terrifying.
I never really wanted to be famous, but I do want to be remembered. I do want to make a difference and leave behind something in this world. I do want people to know that I love them, appreciate them, that they made a difference to my life. It’s funny because that’s actually why I started this blog. I wanted to document my life. I wanted to thank people and revel in gratitude. I wanted there to be answers to any questions about who I really am. I wanted to show that I was living. I want to use this place to show that I am real, that I have emotions, and that I am trying to be a part of this world in a big way. It’s a horribly vain and selfish thing for someone who really isn’t that way much at all.
I am trying to live my life. I have lots of amazingly inspirational people around me that travel and go and do to big degrees. It makes me want to have more and more experiences. It also makes me hope that maybe in a little way, sharing my doing also is inspiring other people to go and do in the same way others inspire me. I figure that being afraid to die is better than being afraid to live. Sometimes I have to do things alone, but I would rather do by myself than not do them at all. What if I don’t get another chance?
I know that this post doesn’t really make a lot of sense, but I’m feeling off in a big way the last couple of days and the only thing that felt right to do today was write about it.
I do want to say this…If I am hit by a bus tomorrow: I love you. I love this world and think being in it is amazing. Every single roller coaster second. It is amazing to be a human. There is something completely magical about the fact that all of these molecules came together to make me, a thinking, breathing, feeling human being…and not a rock. I am so incredibly grateful for every moment, hug, conversation, encouragement, ass-kicking, and sunset. I love being alive. And I hope I am for a very, very long time.