Sometimes in life you think about death and sometimes in life you are forced to think about death.
I spend my whole life worrying about trivial things; “Is the mash lumpy?” and “Will my hair look ok?” and I sometimes forget to think about the bigger things; the more important things.
The “what if that person had been two minutes later?” things.
Why was she in her dressing gown? How much had he had to drink to be that drunk? Why the briefcase?
Why the bloody briefcase?
We were having a conversation at work about death and I, and a few others, confessed that we were scared of death. I’m scared of the uncertainty of it. I’m scared of when it will happen, how it will happen and, most importantly, will anyone I care about be there when it happens or will I be alone? Turns out I’m not just scared about death; I’m petrified.
And, in all honesty, I think I have a right to be.
Some people have done what they want to do in life; met the one, got the dream job, travelled to that idyllic place.
I haven’t but I want to.
If I died tomorrow I wouldn’t be content that I’d done it all; I’d be annoyed that I’d barely started.
So today I’m thankful that the mash isn’t too lumpy and that my hair looks reasonable and that I’m alive. I’m still alive.