Mortality: Surprisingly Motivational

So, apparently realizing you’re going to die isn’t ENTIRELY a downer.

Did not see that coming.

To be clear, it wasn’t just the classic “one day I will cease to exist” realization that rewired my brain.

It was more of a collision of life stages.

A perfect storm.

But outdoorsy - with hiking boots I definitely didn’t already own.

Because if you’d known me in my pre-adventure era, you would NEVER have predicted this outcome.

Not seriously.

Not sarcastically.

Not even as a cruel joke.

I was the person quietly voted "least likely to embrace adventure".

I stayed safe. Cushioned.

Emotionally and aesthetically beige.

And yet - here I am.

Leading a frankly unreasonable amount of adventure on weekends and being quietly alarmed by myself.

Also incredibly grateful.

Embarrassingly so.

Which is rude, frankly.

What Flipped the Switch?

Somewhere along the way, I realized something deeply inconvenient:

Every single day, I am edging closer to dying.

Not dramatically (ideally).

Just quietly.

Biologically. Politely

Natural causes, like a well-behaved citizen.

Or - if the universe is feeling mean - some awful, dreadful disease.

Or less dramatic but somehow worse - Alzheimer’s - me in my happy place while everyone I love emotionally disintegrates around me.

Too much?

Nope.

I’ve watched that movie in real life.

A few times.

Would not recommend.

And honestly, it was the “awful dreadful disease” thought that accomplished what years of inspirational quotes could not.

It shoved me out of my extremely comfortable bubble.

When You’re Left With Yourself

I’ve done what I needed to do for my kids.

They’re okay - ish.

They’re grown - ish.

They no longer require my constant hovering, rescuing, or emotional CPR - ish.

And suddenly, a new chapter appeared.

Awkward.

Unfamiliar.

Highly suspicious.

It was about me.

As selfish and liberating as it was - guilt-free? Absolutely not.

Never.

Not once.

But here’s the argument I made with myself (and lost, which I hate admitting):

The worst that can realistically happen if I start actually living……is that I die.

And since I’m going to die anyway - non-negotiable, apparently - dying while actually living feels vastly superior to dying while just… existing.

Final Thoughts

So if I can impart any wisdom - brace yourself, because positivity from me is rare - here it is.

If you think your moment to live instead of exist has passed, it probably hasn’t.

Not even remotely.

And if the alternative is waiting politely for time to run out - sitting quietly, aging safely, and becoming a cautionary tale—then yes.

We take the adventure.

Every time.

And if you need proof that my transformation is wildly unlikely - bordering on medically suspicious - I have references.

Witnesses who are still confused and occasionally ask if I’ve been replaced.

People who knew me before would like it noted, for the record, that this behavior is highly out of character and possibly a cry for help.

And yet.

If I - former patron saint of beige, risk assessment, and early bedtimes (still remains...let's not get reckless) - can do this?

Sweet summer child.

You absolutely can too.

Now if you’ll excuse me,

I need to go do something mildly terrifying on purpose and then immediately tell everyone how “fine” I was about it.