Today, I’m Reminded That I Won’t Live Forever
And Neither Will You
An Old Lady’s Deep Thoughts #13
The other day, out of the blue, an old colleague of mine, whom I haven’t seen in well over 20 years, found me on Facebook. Yeah, I have mixed feelings about social media, but it does come with a number of advantages. Staying in touch with people is definitely one of them. I was delighted to hear from Ava, and we have been communicating off and on since our recent encounter.
One of our conversations involved sharing information about colleagues, which soon evolved into comparing notes about who is still alive and who is not. It was shocking. We’re both in our 70s, and needless to say, so many of our colleagues have passed away. Ava sent me a long list of obituaries — some online and a few where she supplied all of the information.
Oh, my…
I was able to return the favor by sending my own list of individuals who are no longer with us: both of our previous bosses are gone, as well as the art teacher, two of my kids’ high school teachers, one teacher’s wife, and an art educator and friend whom I’d collaborated with numerous times in the past. One teacher is now in a nursing home. I can see the facility in my mind’s eye. I’ve walked by it hundreds of times.
What makes all of this so eerie is that I left the area over twenty years ago.
That’s right — twenty years ago, I retired from a career as a public school elementary teacher and principal. I was only 54 years old. I decided to take my pension early, sell my house, and 95% of all my personal belongings, and travel the world. It seemed like a wild idea to most of my colleagues and friends, but my husband and I made it work. For roughly four years, we lived a nomadic lifestyle.
I loved living everywhere but nowhere.
Eventually, I bought a small house in another region of the United States, close to my granddaughter. I was there the day she was born and helped to raise her until she started school. Two very different phases of my life post-retirement.
Time marched on, along with my memories of the good old days when I was a fifth-grade teacher across the hall from Ava, who taught sixth grade. The persistent passage of time has slipped through my fingers. In my mind, I see everything the way it was over twenty years ago. But people change. Towns change. If I had never left the area, I expect that I might not be so shocked by the number of people who have grown old.
But their memories were so perfectly preserved that I needed time to adjust to the news.
Suddenly, I was confronted with not only my own mortality but also how quickly time passes. With the click of fingers, we go from having a robust career to being a retired person with a handful of years left.
That is freaky.
I don’t want to live forever, but I also don’t want to waste the time I have left. Looking back, I don’t think I was always able to keep things in perspective. Some of the things I worried about were a waste of time on my part.
So today, I’m taking stock of what’s what.
I’ve accepted that my obituary will eventually be shared with people who once knew me. Rather than dwell on the fact that one day I’m going to die, I’m making a bucket list of who I need to see, where I want to go, and how I want to spend my time from here on out.
Thank you, Ava, for the reminder.
Teresa is an author and professional myth buster. You can find her books on Amazon.
