LIVING LIFE TO DIE? THANKS RILKE

This is the guy living life past my bathroom window in Cannon Beach, Oregon.

A man playing slide guitar in a slick suit felt like a Coen brothers break from reality.

Since I like listening to slide guitar, I also saw him as an omen for good things in the future. That’s how that works. Omens aren’t all bad.

Do you have a sound preference? I didn’t, now I do. Here’s why, the Rilke part:

What if you heard this at the doctor’s office:

Dr. Rilke: You’re dying. Get over it. So is everyone else.

Me: But doctor, how much time do I have?

R: What’s it matter. You seem like one of those lifelong learner types. Keep learning: That is all of life.

Me: Learn to die? Got it.

Put a nice slide guitar soundtrack in the background and it’s not so bad.

Don’t Forget The Suffering Part

This is the difference between an existential psychologist, a dentist, and Carly Simon:

D: You may feel pressure, but no pain. Tell us if you feel pain and we’ll deaden it up.

Me: Pressure. Got it.

D: (Giving me the fish hook finger in the cheek and wrenching my jaw) We’ll get to work.

Me: (Drill chattering off other teeth, lips taken to the limit, trying not to pass out after the first hour) Uh huh.

D: That was a tough one, but I’ve never referred to an oral surgeon.

Me: Mm hmm.

D: Suffering is nature’s way of telling you to take better care of your teeth. And you will. Let’s rejoice.

Me: I’m reshoishing now.

Where’s that energy bar?

Thinking About Me For You Living Life

Before you start thinking this bro is pumping a class, creating a cult, or over sharing as a living: Stop.

That’s what the other bros do. I read their tweets on twitter just like this one, but none carry the vibe.

The vibe I get, and I’m vibey, is living life.

And, reflecting the experience back in writing, by writing, by using words to bend time.

Six months ago the Phoenix airport looked like a third world evacuation with ground transport breakdown, air schedule breakdown, and I had to join it.

So, I dropped my wife off in the swarm of humanity to get it figured out while I found a parking lot with a huge video board showing canceled flights and calling airlines for two seats on any plane to Portland.

I had to get back or reschedule hip replacement surgery ten years in the making. No pressure, right? The race was on.

Stranded for two days after a five day work trip gave us a chance to explore the local archeology.

We walked and walked and waited for the news to get up at three in the morning and crowd into a van as the last passengers or miss the canceled flight.

This time was whole n’other story. No panic, no pushing, no rush in being three hours early.

My lovely wife and I separated at the general check in. She’s pre-TSA and too fancy about it.

I report in with nothing in my pockets but a metal hip I can’t put in a bin. Got a laugh each time.

With time to be together as a husband and wife in an international airport, we decided, (I decided), to each buy a book, read them both and talk about them.

Our own little Book Club

I said I couldn’t find a book so she bought two, one for me. Why does that make me smile? Because now I know she’ll read them, too.

I started reading Where The Crawdads Sing and felt something. I turned the page and felt more. It had to be empathy.

But from where? From the eyes of a girl learning to find a way each day against long odds.

I kept hearing Vivian Howard’s voice in the North Carolina dialect. I heard Mark Twain on the river with Huck.

And I heard A Lesson Before Dying, too, along with The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

The first one hundred pages made me wish for nine hundred more. I think that’s how Harry Potter fans roll.

Delia Owens makes me turn page after page immersed in an American culture that feels more truthful than my history books dare say.

That was what Ken Kesey worked to do in Sometimes A Great Notion.

She makes me feel I’m living life in an illiterate home with a brutal husband and abused wife and kids protecting each other.

I’m inspired by the relatability to learn more about Delia Owens, and see the movie.

Best of all, I wasn’t just on a two hour flight in the dark, I was in 1956, then 1969, and back without losing story momentum.

I’m feeling it. What will I do? Write better. That’s always the goal.

What’s yours? What are your ‘living life’ goals?