38.5: Bright Where You Are
The end - or is it a beginning? - of my letter writing exchange with Camille.
Welcome back to the final entry in this letter-writing series between Camille Prairie and I, where we discuss our perspectives on life as a twentysomething (Camille) and a…not-twentysomething (yours truly). If you haven’t read the other letters in this exchange, you can catch up with the links below:
Dear Camille,
Thank you for your lovely letter last week. As always, your words give me pause; the pictures of your sweet Nala were merely an added bonus. (She looks so soft.)
In return, please accept these pictures of my own furry friend, Katoomba, as she detested enjoyed the holiday season.
While my holiday was both bright and restful, it still had its moments of more quiet reflection. As such, I feel I should add a disclaimer/admission of the bias that is inherent in my current worldview, and thus my response to your questions. There is currently a deeper tint to my rose-coloured glasses, and to the words in this final letter of our correspondence.
God, that sounds so self-serious. I can be accused of that, and most times, it’s a fair observation.
But last Thursday, I attended the funeral of a friend and mentor. As I looked around the funeral parlour at the scattered evidence of a full life - family and friends embracing, albums and slideshows of sixty-four years flashing in a matter of minutes - I was also struck by the thought that he still had much to do. Indeed, he had just reclaimed his drivers’ license for a modified vehicle, and was excited to get back on the road to continue his healthcare advocacy work. Two weeks earlier, we met on Zoom to record the introductory episode of a podcast project we were starting. I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time I would talk with him; a week later, he died, surrounded by his family, in intensive care.1
In between his passing and his funeral, I received for Christmas, and finished, the book Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, by Oliver Burkeman. The thesis of this book is that we are needlessly busy in the present, to stave off confronting uncomfortable truths and emotions, and to also feel justified in taking time off at a later date in the future. However, the truth is, the present moment - right now - is all that we are guaranteed.
To paraphrase, the future isn’t some savings account we can draw off all this time now for when conditions finally feel optimal. They never will be right, if the future happens.
My sister - a former medic herself, like you - tells me she would get similar messages transporting people from their homes to hospices.
Buy the shoes. Eat the cake.
Because we just don’t know.
Being a planner by nature, I’m still percolating on the messages from this break. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with thoughtful preparation, but you can perhaps see why this book is really hitting home right now: three years into a pandemic which had already clarified certain values and priorities, but were recently punctuated with (more) loss.
It’s also why my responses to your questions are all related:
What gives me hope? The simple beauty found in each moment.
What am I looking forward to? While I won’t let future possibilities overcome the moments I have in front of me right now, I will make arrangements to nurture community and growth. How can I be purposeful in my connections? How can I seek out community spaces, or nurture new ones, IRL and in spaces like these newsletters? At the end of the day, of our days, that’s what matters. Community. Big or small, how can I nurture stronger, more positive connections each day?
Do I find endings or beginnings of years hard? Not at all.
It’s just another day that I’m grateful to have.
On that note, I’m grateful to you for being open to this exchange and experience. You’ve been a lovely person to get to know over the past six weeks. I look forward to reading more from you, and keeping in touch.
Bryn xx
Thanks for reading this letter exchange. You can catch up with our previous letters (Camille: 1 2 3; Bryn 1 2), and subscribe to Camille’s newsletter: Adult-ish.
My friend lived for many years with increasingly poor health and bad luck. But his passing was still surprising all the same. He had had several brushes with death in the past, but always pulled through - so I guess I thought he would again. I wish I could have told him what his friendship and wisdom meant to me. I will never miss an opportunity to say what matters again…
Oh Bryn, this letter is wonderful - you've given me so much to think about. I'm ever so sorry to hear about the loss of your friend.
Thank you both for such insights in your fabulous exchange of letters - I've thoroughly enjoyed reading the series.
This was a lovely ending( and beginning ) to our exchange, Bryn! Especially right now, this time of year when there is a push to make new goals and go, go, go and live in the future- this came at just the right time.