The final tomorrow

Lately it feels like coffee, late nights and writing are all bound together to keep this blog alive, though seldom do these elements come together. However, tonight (morning?) is such a time, so let's chat.

I'm particularly interested in the hypothetical situation posed to me by Leah earlier in the evening: if you knew you were going to die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day? She said she'd spend it with me, she said she'd spend it visiting family, I could see that. As for me, I didn't think at all of the people I'd spend my time with. In fact, my thoughts were quite the opposite. Upon wrestling with the situation, I realized solitude was the predominant state in which I'd seek refuge.

I find it odd, and I'm not quite sure why, but I'm very convinced that I'd want to spend a majority of the day preparing goodbyes to be read rather than delivered in person. I think goodbyes are difficult, painful things that I do very poorly and so if I were to make one final shot at them I suppose I'd like the opportunity to edit myself very carefully. The funny bit about this is, of course, that in life we very seldom have the opportunity to perfect our words. We rarely say what we think, and when we do we often criticize the way we deliver our sentiments. I fully acknowledge that I am a flawed individual full of imperfections and yet I wish to be remembered through wise, deep thoughts that inspire those who encounter them. Perhaps I aim too high, and I'll spend my hypothetical last day realigning letters on a page to everyone, eventually being defeated by my own impossible aspirations.

I don't want to spend my last day lamenting the life I've lived, begging for more time, or desperately reaching out for outlandish experiences uncharacteristic of the man I am. I suppose I am better able to tell you of the many things I don't wish to do rather than what I would do. Ultimately, as a result of the many restrictions, I feel as though my day would be spent wasting away as I sit critically binding myself to inaction.

How would your last day be spent? How does this answer differ from one in response to the question "how would you want to spend your last day?" The harsh imposition of reality in context has a harsh way of reminding me of my consciousness, reminding me of the gap between who I'd like to be and who I am. I would love to spend my last day filled with courage, filled with wisdom, filled with bravery as I work tirelessly to share this strength with those who need it around me. In reality, it will be I who requires strength. I am glad this scenario is merely hypothetical, and hope that the life I live in some way demonstrates the characteristics of the man I wish to be.