Here’s the situation. I saw blood in my stool and I have to have a colonoscopy. My doctor was all, “We have to take a look, colon cancer is SOOOO common, it’s the #1 cause of cancer death! We’re #1! We’re #1!” He didn’t say that last part, but it felt like he could have. Apparently, if you catch colon cancer early, you’re fine, but after a certain point there’s absolutely nothing they can do for you and you die in, like, six months. Do not Google it.
When faced with a health concern I always go to the darkest place. What if it’s cancer? What if I wake from the drugs Thursday, he says “It’s too late. There’s nothing we can do. You’ve got about 6 months to live”? I was thinking about it so much that I came up with a plan. I know exactly what I would do.
I’d cut back my hours at work, but not so much that I would lose my insurance. The idea of sitting in a cubicle watching the minutes of the rest of my life literally ticking away would no longer be acceptable. I’ve got a little saved, I could still make the rent. I’d go to yoga at least once a day, sometimes during the day when I’d ordinarily be at work. I’d sell everything and when my lease is up in January, move back to Florida with my mom and sister. I’d spend the last few months of my life surfing, working part-time somewhere, volunteer teaching yoga, meditating, writing. I’d help my mom around the house, start a garden for her. Just taking and giving joy in everything I did. And then I’d die. That’s The Dieing Plan.
As I got dressed for yoga this morning I was thinking about The Plan and it made me smile, it made me happy to think of living my life like that, of my dieing plan. And then driving to the yoga studio it hit me, I don’t have a Living Plan.
I seem to be perfectly willing to let the minutes of my life tick away in front of computer and not do the things I clearly want to do. I don’t do any of the things in my dying plan. Yes I go to yoga, and I was even going almost everyday during teacher training, but not since. Work saps my energy. I don’t garden. I haven’t started volunteering, yet. There are no waves to catch in Austin, and if you look at the dates on this blog you know I’m not writing. I’m certainly not taking and giving joy in everything I do.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve known for a while now that I have no plans for my life, no career goals, no relationship goals, there’s no overarching theme. I just sort of go from one thing to the next and if I stay in one place a while it’s usually not because I love it but because I’m stuck. I started to think, “do I want to die, so I can have that life?” When (kinda) faced with death, I happily made a plan for myself that brought a smile to my face, almost a wish that I could live it even though it would require a death sentence. What does that say about how I really want to live my life, and the way I’m living it now?
The doctor said that 8 times out of 10 there’s nothing seriously wrong. Wait. That means 1 in 5 is serious. Those odds aren’t good, that’s a lot! Anyway…
When I wake up Thursday, if the doctor says “You’re fine! False alarm. See you in 10 years. Bye now!”, what the fuck is my Living Plan?
