Tuesday, October 25, 2011


I read obituaries every day. I have since I was in my twenties. I think of them as little stories, very, very short novels or Haiku lives. But recently I’ve been keeping score of how many of the regional dead are in their late 50’s or early 60’s—our ages—me and John.

I think again—“People my age and John’s age die every day.” And they are not extraordinary deaths, just regular ones from illness and disease and cancers.

I try to use this in a positive way. To remind myself to live my life—mine and not someone else’s idea of my life. To choose my day and –maybe I can’t completely choose what’s in that day --but to choose my attitude about that stuff. To include more of what does matter to me in this day and less of what doesn’t.

I don’t want to die on the day that I was obsessed with who didn’t like me or on the day that I kept trying to please someone else.

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