I Swear I'm Not Depressed

Happy Tuesday. Let’s talk about death, shall we? Blame Anne. She brought it up.

Since I turned 30, I’ve noticed a growing awareness of my own mortality. And let’s stick to ‘awareness’ and avoid throwing around the f-word (fear) for a second. We all know from a relatively early age that we’re going to die, kick the bucket, sleep the big sleep, push up daisies, lie six feet under. As Robyn Hitchcock once sang, “God finds you naked and he leaves you dying/what happens in between is up to you.” So, it’s a foregone conclusion. We’re here for a limited time only, no guarantees. But if we were all fixated on that fact, we’d either never get anything done or do better things with our time.

Let’s take this morning – I woke up, threw on pants, shirt and a tie. I made sure my shoes looked shined and my hair was in decent shape. I got in my car and drove to work and started a day in which, at best, I’d get a few things crossed off my to do list. That’s pretty much the way it goes for everyone. But let’s say that I woke up with a keen awareness that I was going to inevitably die at some point. The day would probably unfold one of two ways:

Keen Awareness of Impending Death Scenario One:
I wake up and realize that I will someday die. Oh shit I’m going to die so why am I even bothering to get out of bed because, really, its all for not and I could sit in traffic and shuffle papers and talk with phony coworkers and drive home in traffic and get myself ready to do the same exact thing tomorrow but it really wouldn’t mean shit because, bottom line really, I’m going to die anyway and what kind of legacy does that leave what accomplishments have I made and what have I contributed to society when I’ve just been doing the same old shit day after day. So I’ll just stay in bed.

Keen Awareness of Impending Death Scenario Two:
Good morning, I’m going to die sometime. Maybe not until some distant future but it could be just around the corner. Anyhoo, I might as well do something good with my time while I’m here. So, I’ll quit my job and work for every non-profit organization I can find. I’ll feed the poor, shelter the homeless, teach the children, pull the hookers off the street, get teens off drugs, change the fundamental political structure of our country so the haves and the have-nots aren’t quite as disparate. I’ll prevent drilling for oil in Alaska, I’ll cut pollution, I’ll patch the ozone layer and I’ll breed bald eagles in my basement to replenish the population. And then, sometime after dinner, I’ll fix the educational system, bridge the digital divide, increase the number of jobs available and adjust the healthcare system so that it takes care of everyone who needs it. Then I’ll just go to bed and start over again tomorrow…to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

Do you see what happens? A Keen Awareness of Impending Death really pushes us in one of two different directions, to one of two extremes. I think this is why we don’t think of this everyday. It would make life a little tough to take.

I’ve recently read a few books, some fiction, some non-fiction, in which people die horrible deaths from cancer or AIDS. Its freaked me out to the point at which I realize that I’ve been staring at the black and white lines of text without really absorbing anything they’re saying. Instead, I’m thinking, “fuck, I don’t want to go like that.” And I don’t. But really, I don’t want to go at all. So, like everyone, I banish the thought to the recesses of my brain where its only likely to surface every once in a long while. And I go on with my life. Or try.

The truth is, I don’t like the prospect of getting old. I don’t like the idea of waking up one morning and not recognizing my wife. I don’t really care for the idea of pain and I certainly don’t want to put anyone out by making them worry about me. At the same time, through all these thoughts, I realize that I am indeed going to go. I don’t know how and I don’t know when but I worry about what I leave behind. What will people remember about me? What will I have accomplished? Will I leave some great novel in my wake? Will I leave behind an album, initially dismissed but critically acclaimed after my death? Will I have 40 cats and be remembered as Crazy Cat Man?

I think all of us do many things to ensure that, just maybe, someone remembers us. When we were moving from Houston to the Washington DC area, I remember etching my name into a few bricks in the house I grew up in. I wanted to make sure someone knew I’d been there, that there’d been someone else who’d led a life there, someone who’d drunk too much when their parents were out of town, who’d shot hoops at the rusting basketball hoop, who’d learned to swim in the backyard pool, who’d snuck out that bedroom window to smoke…who’d grown up.

I’ve rambled on enough about this. I’m not sure what the point was or if it even makes sense. And contrary to the subject matter, I’m not especially bummed out. The bottom line is this – we can’t live each and every day as if it were our last. We’d go nuts with the continual realization that we’re going to, at some point, die. But we can live our lives with compassion and respect both for ourselves and those around us.