|Photo by Paul Greci|
A couple days ago I ran in a 16-mile race, the same race where I injured my calf two years ago. My goal this time was to complete the race without getting injured, which I achieved by paying attention to my body and not pushing myself beyond my current capabilities.
I was just happy to be running, knowing that I won’t be able to run forever.
One thought that popped into my head as my feet slowly but steadily carried me forward was this:
Baring any debilitating mental or physical conditions, or extreme political persecution, I can keep writing for as long as I live—if I choose.
I know a 90 year-old man who is working on a revision—that’s a choice he’s making—to continue a writing journey he’s been on since his teenage years.
And it really is all about the journey. You don’t know what treasures you will find or when you will find them.
In the United States the average human life expectancy is about 78 years. (However, there are no guarantees. I’ve had a sibling and close friends pass away in the prime of their lives.)
My friend and talented writer, Eva Saulitis, passed away this year. She was in her early fifties. It was a sad, sad, day for all who knew her.
Eva’s last book, Becoming Earth, she wrote as cancer took over her body.
From her publisher, Red Hen Press—“In this posthumous collection of essays, Eva Saulitis meditates on mortality, the art of living fully, and her advancing illness and nearing death, confronting the waiting question without fear or sentimentality: how are you going to live when you know you are going to die.”
I can have writing be part of my life for however long I want. For me this idea is freeing. I am on a path that can extend all the way to the end of my life however near or far away that may be.
Just like on my run where I didn't get injured, I don’t have to be in a hurry. I just have to be present.