Wouldn’t it suck to finally understand how to be happy and then die the next day?

I ask myself sometimes.

I’ve gotten so many letters recently from people on the verge of making a big change in their lives. They tell me of their need to break out of whatever work they are involved in (and so many are in the helping professions: nurses, doctors, social workers, teachers), they are often in midlife or older, and they talk about the fear and excitement of possibly starting a new chapter. So this video is for all of you.

In general I don’t think it’s great for people to live in a rush like they are running out of time. Despite the title of this video. But on the other hand, staying stuck in circumstances you are not happy with can be like a death sentence, over years and years.

For me, my life had to get so bad that I was thinking of not being here anymore. Because I couldn’t let myself be “irresponsible” in my own mind, I had to keep working, I endured a life that wore me down physically, mentally and emotionally. I don’t want it to get that bad for you! So I encourage you to look in a new direction, even if you think you can’t. Just turn your head and look for a moment. It could change your life in ways you can’t even imagine right now.

For me, I couldn’t look in a new direction for so many years, because it was just… unacceptable, to me. My mind wouldn’t even go down that track because it was unthinkable. That I wouldn’t work. That I would flake off and run away to Mexico? There was no way I could even consider that for many years, until I finally knew that my life would be short unless I changed something.

Accepting that grim fact finally allowed me to turn my head and look in a new direction.  So when I say “just consider it” I know how hard and unthinkable that can be. But if you are miserable then you have to try it.

The days here are changing fast, as the earth tilts away from the sun, and nights get cooler. The time of the fireflies is long gone, and I haven’t seen all those acrobatic cliff swallows zooming around the skies. They have moved on for the winter.

It’s actually my favorite time of year here. The cosmos are in bloom to welcome this mysterious season, when the harvest is celebrated, the spirits of loved ones come to visit, and the earth (at least this side of the earth) goes into a bit of hibernation as the nights get longer.

so…

Wouldn’t it suck to finally understand how to be happy in this amazing life and then die the next day?

This is something I ask myself when I find I’m taking my life for granted. Not just the fact that I’m alive, but smaller things like the beauty of where I live. The fact that I don’t have to go work at the hospital. That my house isn’t flooding in all this rain.

There will be a time when I appreciate these things for the last time. The strange thing about ordinary life is, I won’t know it when it happens.

We don’t know which cup of coffee is the last one we’ll enjoy on the porch. Which spring is the last one we’ll smell the rain. Which conversation with a friend is the last conversation.

If you’re a parent, do you remember the last time you picked up your child? The last time they let you give them a bath?

I don’t.

I had a close friend who was a little older than me. As we got older, we talked a lot about where he might retire. We had endless conversations about a retirement community in Southern California. Would he like it there? Would there be people to hike with, or paint with? Would he finally get to stop mowing the lawn? Would the money last? Would he be healthy enough to enjoy it?

And then he died.

Suddenly. There wasn’t any warning. And this future we’d spent so much time talking about just never happened.

I’ve thought about that a lot.

Because Two and a half years ago I was still a nurse working in a hospital in Oregon. Back then I wasn’t trying to appreciate my life. I was just trying to survive it.

I spent thirty years deferring myself, for work. Get through the shift. Pay the mortgage. Raise my son. Do what needs to be done. Someday there might be more time.

And then I changed my life.

Now it’s very different. Not perfect, but deeply, surprisingly good.

Sometime in the last year I’ve developed a habit of walking around checking on things. I go out in the morning to see what happened overnight.

What’s growing? What’s blooming? Did the rain do any damage? Is that tree looking better or worse? What on earth did the dogs get into? Or the resident skunk.

A hail storm destroyed my vegetable garden. The apricot tree seems to be struggling. Other, more permanent things seem untouched by everything nature throws at them.

So I start again.

Things happen here whether I’m watching or not, and I get to notice.

And none of it stays the same for very long. It’s never finished.

But someday it will be finished, at least for me.

My tomatoes are trying to hang on despite the blight. I dug up the tiger iris bulbs here and transplanted them over by the fountain. No sign of lilies but what did come up is several tomato volunteers. And they have no blight!

Life and death are happening out here all the time, with absolutely no concern for my plans.

And I think that’s been good for me.

I can’t control the weather or make a struggling tree live. I can’t keep anything exactly as it is.

But I can notice it while it’s here. And with that comes an enjoyment of the beauty of it all. Maybe that’s all paying attention really is.

Not squeezing gratitude out of every moment. Not pretending everything is beautiful.

Just being here enough to actually experience my own life while it’s happening.

Is it odd to enjoy and love such a simple life? To garden and take care of my property. To play with the dogs or go out with a friend. To watch the seasons.

If you had asked me when I was 20 if this was my ideal life, I probably would have laughed and thought “that’s it?”. But I am happy. More contented than any other time in my life.  And I don’t really care if someone else judges me, but I do occasionally wonder about my dying day, and if there is anything I’ll wish I had done differently.

There will be a last spring. There will be a last cup of coffee. There will be a last time I walk outside in the morning to see what happened in the garden overnight.

I won’t know which one it is.