Today I’ve been reading about Wilko Johnson, Dr Feelgood guitarist and fellow Essex dweller, who has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and has only months to live. He has decided against chemotherapy and says he is feeling calm and even euphoric. Not surprisingly, he also says that all the things he used to worry about don’t matter.
I am sure that we have all thought about the kind of perspective that comes from something life-changing or life-limiting like this happening to us, and even tried to achieve that perspective during periods of relative ordinariness, but it’s not easy, is it? I can say to myself, if the world was about to come to an end, would I worry about this? The answer, of course, is no, but the thought is never enough to change the way I look at everything. In order to change the way I look at everything I need to…er…change the way I look at everything.
But, but, but. What if our worry is about exactly that, our own mortality? I remember when I was little every now and then having that cold realisation that one day I would die and crying and crying. Now, I am 50, and this is a daily thought. Sometimes it’s as fleeting as “time is running out”, which actually was as true 30 years ago as it is today. Sometimes my thoughts are far more graphic than that.
I am actually grateful for this preoccupation because it does help me to have a sense of perspective and ask myself “how important is it?” about almost anything. Also it reminds me to do things NOW and say YES! And it reminds me that I am, at core, spirit, and although this body and this mind will not last for ever, there is something in me that I don’t understand for which time and space are meaningless.
Also this: I heard someone say recently that the best way to deal with the fear of death is to enjoy life as much as possible. How often have we heard of people with terminal illnesses describe the joy they feel at being with their family and experiencing simple pleasures, things that we are often too busy, when life seems assured, to take any notice of. I certainly enjoy and value my life vastly more now that I am middle aged than I did a couple of decades ago when time seemed to drag.
I have had two conversations recently with women of a similar age to myself about this very subject. I am not alone in having these thoughts but we don’t talk about them much do we? In fact, it’s my theory that an awful lot of the things that we focus on are there mainly to distract us from thoughts of our mortality. If I’m worried about my job, my bank balance, my hair or my untidy house, I’m definitely forgetting that my time here is limited and the future is spectacularly uncertain. And guess what? Deliberately reminding ourselves of the facts of life and death from time to time doesn’t do any harm. The change in perspective may only be temporary, but a bit of contemplation about the nature of spirit, and what endures, and what being alive really means, can wake up our ability to wonder, and to be really present, and those are excellent uses of our time!
So to continue my theme of having a conversation about something that’s a bit taboo, how about we talk about our own mortality a bit more? Not in that jokey fashion that you hear all the time (“another day nearer death” – “we won’t be here to see that” – “over my dead body”) but in real terms that acknowledge our fear, uncertainty or discomfort. Because actually there is a phrase that describes our predicament, which I think is much better suited to this subject than the one it is currently being used to characterise: we are all in this together.
Interesting!
I think people who are terminally ill find they no longer worry about things because they know there is no long term to have to worry about.
Worry about job leads to worry about housing, even paying for food – the basics of survival, I’m not sure I agree they are distractions from worry over death.
yes, if terminally ill, we do not need to worry that neglecting those issues might leave us destitute in the gutter, but if we expect to live for decades, we *do* have that possibility, hence the worry.
I can see why you are doing a book on it, it’s a *huge* subject/issue!
Cheers,
Gordon
Yes it is a huge subject! I have to restrict myself a bit with the book or the preparation would go on for ever and it would never get written – like most books! But blogging allows me to have an explore. The truth is, we don’t *have* to worry about anything, but even when I am spending hours at a time thinking, reading and writing about the futility of worry, I have to remind myself of that! Thanks for your comments as always.
ah, your rely hits on an important point on the subject of worry;
You say we don’t actually have to ‘worry’ about anything – I would counter that we do have to *consider* things, and *plan* things.
That’s a key point – the difference between the 2 approaches to the same issues that need, considering, er, worrying, er, planning, er, worrying?
So, can worry be reduced by just using another word instead?
Cheers,
Gordon
Aha, yes that is part of the problem. For me, worrying is unnecessary over-thinking, brooding, mulling, can’t-help-thinking-about-it that doesn’t get us anywhere. We all do it and I think we are brought up thinking we can’t help it. I wouldn’t call planning, considering, analysing, consulting or daydreaming worrying. WOrrying also means to worry at something like a tangled up ball of string, or like a dog worries at a bone. All of it is unnecessary. Of course part of what I am doing is to hone this definition and make sure the distinction between deliberate, constructive thinking and worrying is clear. H
I can relate. I will be 73 in 10 more days, however knowing that this time is passing and there comes an end does not bother me. I want to have things set up for my wife so that when she reaches the twilight side of the mountain her life will be comfortable. Knowing that I won’t be here to help her is a concern but she comes from a long line of strong women that lived well into their 90’s so secretly I know not to worry even about that. There is an inner peace when you accept that this is a short journey that must end and it is not in your control when or where it will end. And so I hug her every chance I get, we talk often, we always kiss when one is going in a different direction, and we take time to smell the roses, watch the birds and enjoy the time we have been given.
What a beautiful comment – I’m not sure what to say. I am privileged that you wrote these words on my post. It’s lovely to hear about the quality of your marriage and the way you are enjoying life, and each other. Inner peace is a real treasure and I love that you say it comes from acceptance. Happy Birthday!