Life is too short. It actually doesn't matter how long it lasts. It is too short. However easy it might be to feel invincible, to feel like your daily routine will continue for endless days, weeks, months, the reality is that life is too short.
The Venerable Pema Chodron says that:
"The teachings of Buddhism are directed at people who don't have a lot of time to waste. The includes all of us, whether we're aware of it or not. From the point of view of the teachings, thinking that we have ample time to do things later is the greatest myth, the greatest hang-up and the greatest poison" (Chodron 127).
I felt this in my core. I am a master procrastinator.
As I am sure many others have, I've thought to myself: I can get to X later, I'll start Y tomorrow, maybe over the weekend I'll finally get around to doing Z.
I don't want to tell you how long I procrastinated by looking for a meme about procrastinating. It's a real problem.
The thing is, and I've said this so many times, life is too short. Yet I wasted (ahem) a certain unacceptable number of minutes procrastinating even though I know that life is too short. Why am I like this?
I am so easily lulled in by the myth that there will be more time later, even though I know for a fact that I should be doing something more productive than playing around on Facebook, scrolling mindlessly through Buzzfeed, or just staring off into space.
With all of this, the passage of time inevitably courses forward even as I try to slow myself down, for no other reason other than because I can.
Remember, that Rockstar Neurosurgeon said,
"Cancer."
"Aggressive."
"Incurable."
How am I supposed to look forward to a future like that?
Can't I just hit the pause button for a minute?
If I'm being really honest, I know that my tendency to procrastinate is bad for me. When the man says incurable, I have to admit that I am in absolutely no rush to face a future like that. Can you blame me for being afraid?
That Rockstar Neurosurgeon relieved me of the poisonous belief that I'm invincible, with plenty of time in my future. I should thank him for this kindness.
Yet somehow, I still have these complicated feelings about this man that saved my life. He took out my tumor. He gave me this terrible diagnosis. He released me from the grasp of this childish belief that in the end, everything would be fine. I should be grateful to him, and I am. But I also feel such an aversion to him, because in the same way that he saved my life, I feel like he ruined my life.
I may be a master procrastinator, but I had plans for my summer. Those plans were replaced with over a hundred appointments across six months and three hospital stays. Very few of those appointments were pleasant. I've only really felt truly healthy for maybe two or three days in the last six months. That is a really long time to feel unwell.
And here I am, six months after my first brain surgery, doing my thing. I managed to get through all of this with very little in the way of cognitive deficits. I am still me, even if this Me is not who I had planned to be.
But I'm here. I'm still me.
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| Rome: Colosseum |
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