I was asked to write about how I celebrate life. This is what came:
I am looking out a window at the ice sticking to the needles of a pine tree. Frosting. Beyond the tree, mist settles over the barn and through the forest behind it. I have been hearing people talking of this and calling it ‘bad weather’. And here I sit wondering what good weather could be.
I come from a town that is hot and sunny at the moment. Somebody asked me today which weather I preferred: that of my oasis home then or this mountain home now. I don’t know, to me they’re both the same.
Recently I’ve taken to ‘forgetting’ my coat and walking around with my arms extended so my hands catch the full sensation of the cold. It’s such an amazing experience feeling them stiffen like food in a freezer. While the extremities numb, the joints send weather alerts to my brain.
A month ago I was in Florida hearing people complain about the heat. I love that people move to Florida to escape the cold and then turn up their air-conditioners so they don’t experience the heat. I love the heat, the way it pushes in at me from every direction like the garbage compacter in Star Wars, slowing my stride and giving my body permission to sweat.
I find life to be so much easier to enjoy when I love whatever it throws at me. At times like this, I don’t celebrate life, it celebrates me. It courses through me, a stream through an empty net, and I wait to catch what it offers up.
The more I live choicelessly, the more I have to celebrate. Every moment becomes its own experience as life directs me in its ingenious production. I once thought I was the director, but life proved far more qualified.
So I celebrate life by letting it be. I celebrate life by getting out of its way: I no longer stand before the tsunami with my arms waving like a manic traffic cop, now I turn around and surf the wave or drown in its abundance.
It’s such a beautiful way to die.