I was walking back home in the rain on an early night a couple of days ago thinking about how much time I have left. I love being here on this planet and I never want to leave it. But eventually I’ll be forced to. There’s no greater pleasure than being alive.
The best part of my day is waking up. There is so much to do, and so much to take pleasure in. Even my walk to the subway is enjoyable.
Whenever I’m at the cottage, I wake early to appreciate the silence. Sitting on the porch listening to 80 year old trees moan in a breeze is heaven. Think about how magical it is that they give us the oxygen we breathe.
Last Christmas Eve we were driving in the rain with our friend Paulina and it was lovely. We drove to Lindsay for some beers, knowing that on Boxing Day the province would enter another prolonged lockdown. Keith stopped at the gas station and when he was filling the tank Paulina and I sat quietly and listened to the rain pound the pavement. I took so much comfort in that moment.
When we returned to the cottage we made dinner, drank too much and woke to a blanket of fresh snow. My heart was full. How could I not pinch myself? Is this real!?
I’ll never understand not paying attention or respecting how miraculous it is to be here, to be present, to marvel at things as precious as the weather. I’m so lucky to have this time, this one life. Best to fill it by being aware and counting all the blessings I have, which are plentiful.
I get to walk. I can use my body, I’m mobile. I have hearing and sight. There are no obstacles in my way except the ones I build for myself.
Every once in a while I think about my death. It will come, I don’t know when. There’s already friends of mine who passed early.
I was talking to a colleague of mine yesterday who recently turned 60 and I told her that I hope I make it to that age.
“You will,” she said.
Even if I don’t, well, I was lucky enough to be here for the short time that I was.
I think that’s my key takeaway. I was lucky.