I only have one hour left until I die. I only have one hour left, and I have to choose how I will spend those precious sixty seconds very carefully. What will I decide? It’s so much pressure. So much or so little could be accomplished. I should, of course, call my mother. But I really need to take care of my bills and put my affairs in order too? Oh, I should vacuum under the couches? God, I wouldn’t want people to see the dust bunnies under there. I know what I should do, I should run my errands. I have been putting them off for far too long. If only there were more time, then I could do what I really love doing for my final hour here on earth.
Okay, so I don’t really have an hour left until I die. At least not that I am aware of. I actually only have an hour left until my baby wakes from her nap. And even that can’t be guaranteed. My hour might run short by a surprise poopy diaper. Of course, we never know when our time is up. So we have to make the most of it and choose wisely. This is something that we usually say to ourselves but don’t actually put into practice. And boy, I am one of the worst offenders of this. I couldn’t imagine lying on my deathbed wondering whether or not I took care of the meaningless b.s., or adulting, that I continually prioritize over the activities that make me truly happy. Painting, journaling, accordion, sewing, hiking, cooking, making love to mi amor, playing with my dogs, traveling and now being a mother.
After the birth of my daughter I started thinking about my own mortality, a lot. It kind of bothered me. I thought, we are all born, we live, and then we die. We live and we die. Those are the only guarantees in life. The other thing I have been thinking about is the impression I will make on this young girl. How I have to do “right” for her. Or more intriguingly, how my daughter inspires me to become the best version of myself. What that looks like isn’t 100% clear to me. But I do know that it does include me being an artist.
For so long, I have struggled with this better version of myself. I have wasted much time worrying about issues, that while important and do require some attention, are not as important as I choose to make them out to be. See, I have been learning a lesson. That is that we have choices in life. And over my thirty-one years on earth, these have been times where I did not, and times where I did make choices which moved me closer or further from the best version of myself. So here I am, I have one hour that I chose to write to you. That I am getting started again. I’m making art every day. I am finding the time. I am putting in the effort. Because when I am on my deathbed, I want to think back to how I did what I could to be the best version of myself that I could be. And shoot, that could be any minute now.