Live Every Day as if It Were Your Last

Over the past few years I’ve become fond of saying: “I’m on the return journey”.  This expression of my own mortality often takes people off guard (especially the 50 and over crowd).  Sorry.  It’s true.  From the moment we arrive, it’s a return journey.  We just choose to forget that inconvenient little fact.

Why is it important for us to frequently remember that our existence in this body on this earth is limited?  I believe it is so that we can get busy living on purpose.  We might even call this being conscious of our destiny.  For me, I recently did some very deep work on gaining clarity around my own purpose and destiny.  It’s something that I’ve been aware of for some time, although it got lost in the hustle-bustle of everyday life.  

In its simplest form, I know that I am here on this earth at this time to live free and encourage others to live free.  The Founding Fathers of the United States of America had a similar awareness.  In their Declaration of Independence they asserted that “[men and women] are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”  From the date that their declaration was made, those men certainly lived every day as if it were their last.

In the madness that is modern society, it is so easy to get lost in the “thick of thin things” (Stephen Covey). And, since our death is certain (only the time of our death is uncertain), I offer Psalms 23:4 for encouragement: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”

The Maple Leaf in the River

Recently, I sat beside a river in the Blue Ridge Mountains contemplating a time many autumns ago when the first people inhabited that fair land.  As I sat, visions of a few Braves moving through the country came to me.  One stopped to drink from a calm eddy by the bank across the river at the bottom of the steep slope studded with trees falling into color.

As the Brave slipped back into the underbrush, an urge welled up inside me to stand by the river for a few moments and observe.  I noticed several colorful leaves making their way downstream in the clear, clean water flowing past.  One leaf, a large maple, tumbled slowly in the swift current.  It was as if the leaf was cartwheeling across the river bottom.

It has since occurred to me:  what would it be like if we gracefully cartwheeled in the swift current of our lives?

The Monkey and The Organ Grinder

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a certain class of beggars known as "organ grinders" would walk the streets of large cities in America and Europe, plying crowds for small donations in exchange for entertaining them in public.  These street performers would carry large music boxes (organs) that were operated by turning a crank.  The grinder would often be accompanied by a monkey who would dance to the music, do tricks to entertain the audience, and then collect donations.

I was reminded last week of the Organ Grinder metaphor, as I danced to the music of several other maestros.  While putting a monkey on a leash and asking it to do tricks for money is now outlawed, the activity appears to be alive and well in the course of human events.

In a free society, it is still possible to dance to one's own music (should one choose to do so).  And, as Henry David Thoreau put it: "...step to the music which [you] hear, however measured or far away."  

Sadly, I lost sight of this sage advice last week as I was grinding it out.  Not Anymore!  As I begin anew, I am reminded to follow my own music, and I am prompted to ask:  

Whose Music Are You Dancing To?