The Dash

What are we doing here? Isn’t that the big question in life . . . and for some of us, myself included, often in the grocery store or in a room I’ve just entered. I ask myself, “What did I come in here for?” or “What was it I supposed to buy?” Then at some point, we ask that question about life – what am I doing here? What did I come here for? I suppose for every 10 people you ask, you might easily get 10 different answers to that all-important question. Well, since I’ve had my own epiphany pretty recently, I’ll share my expert thoughts as well. Why not, right? I’m as much of an expert about life on planet Earth as anyone else. I’ve been here for over 40 years, tried a bunch of different stuff, and have actually learned a few things along the way. I suppose this is my biggest lesson of all.

Years ago I was in a cemetery – wish I could tell you why, but I can’t really remember. I told you it was years ago. Anyway, I was checking out the gravestones, because there really isn’t much else to do in a cemetery. Of course, when you are there, walking among dead bodies, it’s a bit hard not to think about the obvious --- death, your own in particular. There I am, checking out these headstones and they have the standard birthdate, a dash, then the date the person died, along with some profound statement that is supposed to summarize the essence or life of person whose bones are buried six feet below. The most important thing on those headstones to me is the dash, not the numbers and not the phrase. Yup, that little hyphen between one date and the other. That’s where the person’s life was – right there in the dash. It’s not so important what date they were born or what date they died. Life is all about the dash. Don’t tell any history teachers I said that, because you know how they love to have students memorize dates (of birth and death mainly it seems). So how do we evaluate the dash? This is where my big epiphany comes in.

For me, the quality of your life can be measured in the fun you had, the experiences you had, and how much you loved. Maybe that’s not terribly deep or philosophical, but that’s my truth. If you want deep and philosophical, this just ain’t the place for you. When you get to the end of the road, that big jumping off point, the end of the dash, that’s where you really get to figure out what’s important. I’ve never heard of anyone, in their last few moments, wishing for more time at work, wishing they had done more tedious housework. It’s usually all about things they wish they’d done, tried, or taken a chance at. Or it’s about relationships – wishing they had loved more, not lost a relationship over something dumb, or said they were sorry when they had the chance.

For me, a full life is a life where I played, I had fun, and I loved with all my heart. For me it’s never been about “the American dream” – amassing stuff, being rich, attaining some position, having a secure long-term career. I want to play. Sound a bit immature? Sound like Peter Pan syndrome? If so, then I must be saying this just right. I want to experience life in its fullest. I want to squeeze every last drop of life out of each day. I want death to have to run to catch me. I’m not going to just plod along in the rat race, watching each day slip into a fog of where-did-the-time-go. I’m going to go after my dreams, no matter what anyone else thinks of them. I'm determined to look back over my life, when I’m nearing the end of the dash, with no regrets. I don’t want to look back and have a bunch of dreams unfulfilled, things I was too afraid to try, or regrets.

I’ve recently taken to writing little reminders and mantras for myself on rocks. I bought myself a Dremmel and have been inscribing words on rocks that I pick up on my walks on the beach. I just wrote myself a reminder on a big rock. “Make time to play.” I put it up on the kitchen counter where I see it everyday. It’s my reminder to live, live big, and make the most of my dash.