It's Not Snooping if They're Dead

In Scotland, my husband and I stumbled upon a cemetery. Naturally, I entered and started reading about everyone's lives because I feel as though that's kind of like being nosy, but the person isn't there, so it's not as socially annoying. 

Epitaphs are an interesting phenomena. 

First of all, who writes them? Also, isn't it a terrifying thought: someone else writing about your life in 140 characters or less and it immortalizes you for the rest of the ages (or until your tombstone topples over from the punishing wind)?

Most of these epitaphs told a linear story. Or gave facts about the person - super boring facts at that - unless they had two wives...#scandalous. 

What would you want yours to say? Loving spouse, fantastic pie maker, blah blah we've heard all that. We know all of that. 

What if your epitaph embodied what your everyday life was like? 

Because I'm usually very confusing, let me explain: what if everything you did in your day to day life lived on as an example for the weird, snooping traveler, dusting of your tombstone in search of some inspiration three hundred years after you're gone? 

Talk about legacy. 


Mine shall read this: 

Avid cloud watcher. 

Cat obsesser.

Boundary reducer.

Inclusive friend gatherer. 

Precarious wordsmither -lolz.

Lover of mankind. 

Most of all, she wanted you to be your best - and then share it with others. 

Go and repeat endlessly. 

We hate it when our friends become successful?

“We hate it when our friends become successful” –Morrissey

Being in my 20s, it’s a little weird.

It’s this fantastic time where part of your friends are on the track they’ll be on for the rest of their lives, and another part have no clue what they’re doing - literally, with their daily lives - and then some  are having existential crises about what’s next and question what the hell they’re doing or thinking in general.

I don't know about you, but I can relate to all of the above. 

I never used to understand anything that Morrissey ever said, but it was always hysterical listening to him (especially when he sang about “Fatty” being the one for him).

Mainly, he always just sounded like he was yawning. And I loved it.

But as I get older, the reality of most of the lyrics I listened to (and disregarded or didn’t understand as a young buck), is setting in.

this is a cause for concern and a cause to challenge the way I see life and the people around me.

Why do we hate it when our friends become successful? ...In one degree or another.

Why do we compare ourselves to one another as though we are all supposed to live the same life?

I think we all need to find our own success.

What does success actually mean to you? If it’s a job or a type of home, maybe rethink what success means within the realm of your life.

What I’ve found is that it’s embracing the things that money can’t buy, that a dream job can’t fulfill, that a certain amount of respect from your peers won’t quench.

It’s not the easiest realization and it can be painful. it requires daily soul searching, but redefining success let me enjoy my days more, stare into my husband’s eyes a little longer, and released those tension knots in my shoulders. 

What are we up to?

What are you up to?

Do you ever stop to ask yourself this question?

We go through our days so quickly – we’re always so busy - preoccupied with the tiny pieces around the edges of our puzzles.

Do you ever take a step back and look at what you’re creating? Is it a scene you’re happy with? Are the pieces you’re putting together getting you to the big picture?

I do myself a favor and never really know what I’m up to. This allows me to be open and listen to my surroundings.

What’s next?

I have an idea, but I’m not in the daily business of finding out.

I toss out the pieces of the puzzle and gauge my days based on their own merit. I let the clues each day lead me to who I’m going to be and am becoming.

Is the next step you take the one that glides you into the warm embrace of your destiny? Probably not, so don't treat every little thing you do with such tediousness that you forget to have some damn fun. 

Like the faint smell of a cherry pie on a window ledge, I’m following the scent of where the future will take me, instead of toiling with fitting all the little pieces together.