Translator: David DeRuwe
Some of the things I dreamed became a reality so quickly
that it could only mean my end was at hand.
To this day, when I experience a really great day,
when I receive a thank you full of love and care,
or when I accomplish something fantastic, I say,
“OK, I can die now.”
People, uncomfortable, respond to me:
“My God no, how horrible,”
and they tell me to “knock on wood” to take this issue away,
and as you can see, death still hasn’t come for me -
at least not in it’s conventional form.
I know this idea may sound morbid,
but the more time passes, the more I believe it:
In the same way that there there is no triumph without loss,
there is no life without the idea of death.
But before going deeper into these thoughts,
I want to tell a love story.
The story is about my first real boyfriend.
We met each other in college.
I was more or less 19,
and despite not being a really obvious couple,
we were very connected.
We lived our relationship intensely -
full of declarations, laughter, travel,
and for sure, many tears too.
We broke up after four years because we understood
that we were in different stages of life,
and if we ever wanted to be together,
it was better to separate now and try again later.
We went more or less 11 months without having any contact,
and then one Monday night, he called me.
We spent three hours talking,
and the following week, we traded texts, messages, and videos about true love.
He wrote me on Saturday,
and on Sunday, as soon as I woke up,
I received the news that he had died that morning in a car accident.
This happened exactly seven years ago,
and in anthroposophy, the science that studies nature, man and the universe,
this is the seven-year event,
the time when big changes and closings of cycles occur.
Regardless of the numerical variability a theory like this can have,
this story is very responsible for the way that I see life,
and it plays a big role in the way I make decisions.
This was the first time I saw death,
and despite never having been taught to deal with life’s finiteness,
I remember that in the middle of that wake,
I found some calm
by recognizing that of all the people who were there,
I was the one who most enjoyed him while he was alive.
I was reminded of a day that I left running from the airport,
postponing my exchange program to stay with him,
and I remember my mother asking me
to swallow my pride and to forgive a betrayal.
As much as death is known for its finality,
there are no numbers or official statistics
that register the small deaths we experience in our lives:
the death of who we were,
the death of what we planned,
and the death of what we felt.
Nor is there an exact determined time for the mourning, for the gestation,
or for the rebirth of the new me that presents itself after each ending.
At that funeral, I died too.
My friends who were there crying with me asked only one thing of me:
“Lara please, regardless of what happens,
don’t take your anger out on Marcela.”
“Marcela? But guys, who is Marcela?”
Marcela was the girlfriend of my ex-boyfriend,
who I didn’t even know existed,
but my existence had affected her relationship.
After more than 10 delirious hours at the wake,
I saw that Marcela was holding some white flowers in her hand,
and I thought, “Wow, but here I am wiped out, smelly, destroyed.
Where do these white flowers come from?
How can anyone, at a moment like this, possibly think of white flowers?”
I kept my impertinent thoughts to myself,
and I got into line to say my last goodbye before they put his casket into the tomb.
In the moment I passed in front of her,
she extended her hand to me, gave me the white flowers,
and said, “Take these, I know how very important you were for him.”
Look.
If she had slapped me, it probably would have hurt a little less,
because before I could rage against that premature death,
I got this clarity that all the pain that had gone through me until then
was the only way that I could have learned
how much nobility and kindness mean in practice.
I would venture to say that inside our inner world,
everyone has these thoughts and emotions
that if we said them aloud would leave us a little ashamed.
Learning how to recognize and dialogue with these thoughts and feelings
is the first step to deciding if we want to keep them alive or not.
And it’s clear that the obvious lesson in a story like this would be:
drop everything, take a sabbatical,
explore our grand passions, and enjoy the time we have left.
The lesson that’s not so obvious from this same story,
the one Marcela taught me,
is about being absolutely kind,
even under the worst of conditions.
It’s an invitation to take care with each word we put into the world
because we can always say what we believe,
but without needing to offend or discredit anyone.
At the same time, it’s also about being radically transparent,
replacing excuses with apologies,
and never withholding our praise, declarations, and thankfulness.
This isn’t just valid for our friends, work colleagues, and family,
but for everyone who crosses our path,
especially on a difficult day.
This idea of transforming ouselves in life isn’t anything new.
After all, if you’re an entrepreneur,
a first-time mom, or just got promoted a work,
you already are aware that what brought you here
probably won’t take you on to whatever is next.
In this world that requests from us so much authority and consistency,
much serenity is needed.
For after some years of a career, I can say:
“I don’t know, but I’m still available to learn and to take a risk,”
Maybe the good news from this conversation is that we don’t need to lose someone
or see death in such a direct way to die.
Because we always die when a relationship ends,
when a job dismissal occurs.
We die when we fail in front of someone important to us.
Curiously, we also die when we accomplish something
that we’ve wanted for a long time or that made us shake from fear.
Death itself is a concrete thing that should bring urgency to life,
but should also allow us to walk a little more calmly -
calmly to accept the rhythm of each life cycle,
to accept a project’s construction time, also to make good choices,
trading a tempting invitation for a good night of rest.
Being aware of death is a unique way to decide life.
It’s a chance to stop in the face of a challenge,
take a deep breath, and ask yourself,
“If this were my last moment alive, how would I want to be remembered?”
In a very famous study, published in the book
“The Science of Happiness,”
there is a theory that 60%
of everything that brings us realization and well-being
is outside of our control.
Close to 50% comes from our genetics,
and 10% comes from the events that surround us
But with the remaining 40%,
we can and must count on our intentionality towards life
The big question is:
“Which of my versions has to die so that I can truly live?”
Maybe my version who’s afraid to take risks.
Maybe my version who doesn’t say what she feels.
Maybe my grumpy version who thinks she has all the answers.
Or maybe all of these.
To accept the death of who we are is an act of courage.
It’s not heroic or metaphysical; it’s a day-to-day courage.
And I know if my ex-boyfriend were still alive,
he would be proud to know that the child
who thought that her strength was her aggressiveness died.
He would be happy to know that almost seven years have passed
since I met and married the best and sweetest man in this world,
and that today, this child is deeply committed to be kind
whenever it’s possible - because really, it’s always possible.
In the school of life, I learned that yes, our privileges separate us,
but we still have the chance to connect,
intentionally and passionately, in life,
with all the things that make us human and exactly equal -
our fears, our expectations,
and the certainty that sometime, inevitably, we are going to die.
For you, I would like to be remembered not as someone who likes death,
but someone who lives well, always attentive of it.
And from this event, here is one more farewell -
this one to this vain version of me
who believes she has something really valuable to share,
and still doesn’t know how much time to mourn
or what will come from the ashes of this Lara -
the one who has just died here.
Thank you.