Walk Me Home

I am coming face to face with my own mortality.

When you are twenty you think you will live forever. Forty seems a million years away.

When you are in your thirties you are in blind denial, but have started looking into eye creams and may just be flirting with Botox.

When you turn forty you become a little reflective. Some people have full-scale meltdowns on sailboats off the coast of Miami, but then realize nothing really shifted that day after pep talks and tequila, so own it sister.

Then you start noticing some funny little changes. I’m not talking about the gray hairs, the lines, or the mammogram forms that ask, “Are you STILL having your period?” like a real passive aggressive jerk.

No, I’m talking about how you don’t process alcohol as well as you did when you were toasting your badassery and future plans. The way you are still tired when you wake up. That left knee that clicks in yoga poses.

But, I drink green juice! I work out at least 4 times a week! I take care of myself!

Yes, but genetics, time, and all those delicious splurges have caught up and some doctor sits down, after asking if you are STILL having your period (isn’t this a fifties thing?), and tells you that you are not immortal. That decisions you make today are going to decide some important outcomes. Like how long you live. Like the pill box he may be suggesting you buy. Like, whether you spend the balance of your life in good health or narrowly avoiding your own demise.

“We can keep driving 10 miles over the speed limit, or we put on the cruise control and avoid a heart attack in a couple years. It’s your call.”

So, my call is to stop. Stop and breathe and realize I am immortal. To accept the inevitable. I cannot stop aging, but I can do it consciously. One day I will die, but I’d really like for it to be after I’ve seen my own grandchildren and spoiled the ever living hell out of them… and then sent them back to Liv’s house.

I have a lot of say in my outcome, so I’m setting the cruise control, which looks a lot like greens, grains and self control. It means reading the packages instead of throwing them in the cart because I’m in a hurry. It means cooking my meals at home. It means breaking up with my twin flame, sugar. Our connection is #nextlevel, but I’ve told him I’ll see him in our next life. Seriously. That’s my relationship with sugar. I can feel him even when he’s not with me. We have lived many lives together. God, I miss him right now.

We can’t stop our eventuality. When we’re little we want to be big. When we’re big, we want to be legendary. In the middle of all of that we want love, to be seen, to be happy, to be successful, to know that we matter and our life has purpose.

And one day, we’re reminded of our simplicity. That we’re cells and a soul that will one day be a memory, and as Ram Dass said so eloquently, “We’re all just walking each other home.”

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