In my last post, I confessed that one of my very worst habits was letting go of people and not making an effort for them. Today, as I did my usual doze of reading, this one article caught my eye where the writer met with a woman who had no intention to live beyond the age of 35. What the writer continued to say did not capture my interest… what interested me more was the concept of choosing when you die. I’m 25 now. I have stoically, sometimes stubbornly accepted and condoned my many could-have-beens & hesitations to go after the things I want most in life. But if i knew, without a shadow of doubt that I would die at 35… would I do things differently?
Choice & Consequence. If I wasn’t here at 35… well, then I just would not be here to face the music of any of my choices now, would I?
The voice inside me rubbishes my (seemingly cowardice laden) train of thought… I’m gonna live to be a 100 years, I have all the time in the world, it says. And therein lies my greatest weakness that perpetuates my second worst habit. Not only people, but even time to me is disposable. And while my brain knows that is foolhardy, my limbs remain lethargic.
I once knew someone who was a dreamer, was driven, had passion and zest for life and all it had to offer… I once knew someone who had a purpose, a viewpoint and the will to stand-by the viewpoint. I once knew someone who wasn’t casual about how she treated others or how she was being treated. That person seems to have left. It would be good to have her back. Of all the people I’ve let go of, I’d like to bring my erstwhile self back. She was the good sort, the kind one… who did not take people or time for granted (hell – she may have never even thought this thought), nor was unkind to her body… did not stay holed up in her room, sans fresh air, eating junk food with earphones that had music that was way to loud while her eyesight became weaker per minute having her nose in a computer screen all day long…
If I had just 10 years to live, sans consequences of my choices… I’d like to think that things would look very different to me. As I type this, I think: I may as well be fearless about the things I want to do, right? Consequences or not. Confused again, I miss the clarity my former self would’ve had.
But here is the question: Does the idea of knowing how much life-time you have left appeal to you? And if you knew that you had just 10 more years to live, would you fight for more, or simply make a milestone list of plans?