Extraordinary

I've been thinking about death a lot lately.

If you've read my previous work, you'll know that death is something that's on my mind quite often. But it's been on my mind much more often as of late. I have watched friends and family of mine lose people over the last few weeks and months. It makes me uncomfortable...

It makes me uncomfortable because it forces me to come to terms with my own fragility. In my head, I am indestructible — or at the very least, I am the main character shielded with so much plot armor that any arrow fired my way might graze me, but never end me. The more stories I hear about people my age passing away, the more I begin to realize how untrue that really is. It makes me uncomfortable...

It makes me uncomfortable to realize just how little control I have over protecting myself, my family, my friends, and one day, my wife and kids. I also feel powerless when it comes to being there for my grieving friends.

What do you say to someone who's just lost their father? What do you do to help them navigate the complex emotions that come with losing someone they simultaneously loved and loathed?

What do you say to someone who's lost their friend? What do you tell them when they ask you why God allows young people to be taken like this?

What do you say to someone who's lost their sister? How do you celebrate the life she had while mourning the life she never will?

I don't know...

But I am tempted to spin this in the most positive way possible. The stoic saying Memento Mori just echoes through my head, and I feel my heart racing. I feel the need to go and be extraordinary, to do something spectacular, to live life to the fullest in the most extreme way possible. I feel this incessant need to make death mean something. I want it to stir me to be greater than who I've been. And in some ways, it should do that — but in some ways, it shouldn't.

Deep down, I am afraid that I will die not having accomplished much. I have this deep-seated fear of being ordinary. For the most part, I keep it at bay, but as of late, I've seen it rear its ugly head more and more. And it's this fear that drives me to be great, but it's also this fear that keeps me from being happy and content with where I am now. I am, in the purest way possible, despising the small beginnings.

I don't think my friends need someone larger than life. I think they just need a friend. There is nothing you can say to snatch the grief out of their souls, but you can be there for them. And sometimes, that's enough.

Being there for people when they need you is such an ordinary thing. But maybe it is precisely because it is ordinary that makes it so extraordinary.

I think ambition is good. I still intend to be the greatest man my bloodline has ever seen. But I need to enjoy the journey, because it will take a long time before I reach my destination. I need to enjoy the nodes of extraordinary stuck in between the ordinary. I need to take it slower and be more intentional about showing up in an extraordinary way in moments that seem ordinary.

The greatest men and women that have ever lived were seldom worried about their own greatness. They just followed their natural curiosity, worked their hardest, and tried their best. Everything else came as a result of that. I think that's a good way to live. I want to give it a try.

Fin.

C.N.M.