Maybe we are designed to carry less weight through a life well lived then required by a life well lived.
I have always marveled at the conscienceless as they glide through the rapids seemingly hovering above the turbulent waters, oar held high toward the heavens in victory while reaching down with the other to lend a hand to the capsized in a mechanical and hollow gesture of heroism.
What is strength in that scenario? Does there have to be a fake but shining example of victory for us to keep trying as we are inevitably thrust about and dashed against the jagged rocks with only the occasional eddy to regroup before it happens again twice fold.
What if the only boats in the water were truly IN the raging torrent? What if all of us engaged fully with the whitewater and worked as one to feel every ebb and flow? Wouldn’t the mayhem of the river itself have to succumb to the blanket of humanity and blend with our experience to the degree that we could all endure the worst of it?
Today I feel creeping fear as “a life well lived” has taken another warrior of passion. Today I am asking myself if the weight of it is more than I will be able to bear as I head into more twists and turns of a river that has already thrown me many times.
My boat is full with passion and curiosity and I fear that I can’t yet see how rough the worst of it can actually be. Today I am asking myself if I should continue this journey alone with a boat overfull or should I dump the very things that connect me to the experience and glide above it all?
Maybe we can do better. The third option. We lash our boats together and load up on a life well lived.
The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.