don't.
This week I had the chance to work on something truly meaningful. One of my coworkers asked me to re-write the copy for a brochure, advertising an annual 5K run. The run is in honor of her brother, who died seven years ago at the age of fourteen, dropping from a sudden heart attack after cross country practice. This assignment comes just four months after the news of Alison, who also died far too young. I worked on the brochure, filled with pictures of a smiling kid always surrounded by friends and family. His life obviously meant a lot to those around him, and it was lost in an instant on an otherwise normal afternoon.
The images and writing about my coworker's brother were touching, but sobering. Along with the work of coming up with a new name and new copy for the run was the work of not trying to think of my life without one of my sisters, and trying to think about if the way I've spent my 28 years so far would be considered meaningful if I died tomorrow.
As I worked, I thought about how I've changed over the years. The strange thing about getting older is that it doesn't feel that way. I'm not that old, and most of the time I still just feel like me. Of course, there are physical changes, like a slower metabolism, grey hairs, and that horrible feeling in the morning if I've eaten within an hour of going to sleep the night before.
But I have changed. I'm different than I was five years ago, two years ago, one year ago. Not unrecognizably different, and hopefully not shockingly different. The differences are not related to a radical new belief system or a major physical change. I haven't changed by doing things, but by not doing things. The list below is made up of ways I used to live - some of them were more dangerous than others, some took me a long time to learn, and some were simply things I decided to stop. These things that I no longer do have made all the difference in my health, happiness, and sense of peace - and I hope they always will.
And then I got married, and moved, and bought a house, and started a small business. I got published, I invested in some great friendships, and I decided to chill out about exercise. I went to Alison's funeral and started planning two baby showers. I got burned by people I thought were strong enough to give as much as they take from a friendship, and I found grace in some unexpected places. Most importantly, I've decided that there really is no time - no time at all - to waste on things that don't matter, like perfectly toned arms, celebrity gossip, and people who won't give you the benefit of the doubt.
I'm out of time for activities and people that don't help me grow in love, strength, faith, and grace, and for activities and people that don't challenge me to be better to myself, to others, and to the world. And because, as chilling as it is to learn this through an unexpected death, time is precious. Unpredictable. Often unfair. I have no idea how long I have. But whether it's another four years or another sixty-five, I want to add to the list of things I don't do. The less harmful, negative, and fearfully I live, the brighter my life will shine.
The images and writing about my coworker's brother were touching, but sobering. Along with the work of coming up with a new name and new copy for the run was the work of not trying to think of my life without one of my sisters, and trying to think about if the way I've spent my 28 years so far would be considered meaningful if I died tomorrow.
As I worked, I thought about how I've changed over the years. The strange thing about getting older is that it doesn't feel that way. I'm not that old, and most of the time I still just feel like me. Of course, there are physical changes, like a slower metabolism, grey hairs, and that horrible feeling in the morning if I've eaten within an hour of going to sleep the night before.
But I have changed. I'm different than I was five years ago, two years ago, one year ago. Not unrecognizably different, and hopefully not shockingly different. The differences are not related to a radical new belief system or a major physical change. I haven't changed by doing things, but by not doing things. The list below is made up of ways I used to live - some of them were more dangerous than others, some took me a long time to learn, and some were simply things I decided to stop. These things that I no longer do have made all the difference in my health, happiness, and sense of peace - and I hope they always will.
- I don't compulsively exercise.
- I don't engage negative self-talk.
- I don't fight for weak friendships.
- I don't try to make people see things the way I do.
- I don't try to fix people.
- I don't brush, blow dry, flat iron, curl, or highlight my hair.
- I don't care about the details of the lives of strangers, celebrities, and people I barely know.
- I don't ask permission.
- I don't stay up later than my body wants to.
- I don't drink Diet Coke.
- I don't try to please everybody.
- I don't forget that everyone - and I mean everyone - is hurting in some way.
And then I got married, and moved, and bought a house, and started a small business. I got published, I invested in some great friendships, and I decided to chill out about exercise. I went to Alison's funeral and started planning two baby showers. I got burned by people I thought were strong enough to give as much as they take from a friendship, and I found grace in some unexpected places. Most importantly, I've decided that there really is no time - no time at all - to waste on things that don't matter, like perfectly toned arms, celebrity gossip, and people who won't give you the benefit of the doubt.
I'm out of time for activities and people that don't help me grow in love, strength, faith, and grace, and for activities and people that don't challenge me to be better to myself, to others, and to the world. And because, as chilling as it is to learn this through an unexpected death, time is precious. Unpredictable. Often unfair. I have no idea how long I have. But whether it's another four years or another sixty-five, I want to add to the list of things I don't do. The less harmful, negative, and fearfully I live, the brighter my life will shine.