Life is short.
Maybe this year I have been too surrounded by sickness and death, the latter seemingly looming at every corner, grinning at me with fiery eyes. Maybe.
Maybe it’s this thing called midlife crisis with me turning 50 only a heartbeat away? Maybe.
Whatever it is, it makes me think. And no matter which turn my thoughts take in those convolutions of my brain, they always end up spitting the same thing at me:
Life is short.
Sounds like a boring truism? Sure, it is. But then I never felt this to be so sickenly real like right now. Now that my mother has died, a good friend is fighting aggressive cancer, another one a so far mysterious sickness… Yes, life is short I admit as I start to comprehend that my own clock is ticking. And it is ticking loudly.
With more than half a life behind me and an unknown span of time left I wonder why it always takes this long, why we all have to come to this point to understand one day it may be too late, and this day may be tomorrow.
So, I took stock. Of all the things I did and didn’t do. Of things I should have done. Of all I wanted from life, of who I wanted to be. Of what I achieved and what I lost. And while it isn’t too bad I still have to face that I took many wrong turns in life.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…
Maybe I had to come so close to 50 to finally don’t care anymore what anyone else might think. Maybe.
Life is short.
Too short to chase rainbows. Too short to be shy. Too short to hold back.
And so I will dance in the rain, sing in the middle of the night under the window of the one I love, say silly things, laugh and cry, wear my scars, lay my cards on the table…
Because life is short, and I haven’t got time to miss a thing.