Stubborn Gladness: Lessons from Five Early Deaths

My (eighteen-month younger) twin brother and I are both gluttons for a nice walk.

We love to get outside and see where our feet take us. No rushing. No calorie burning goals. Just moseying about. Taking a leisurely stroll.

Personally, I’m into wiggly walks. I like solo time in nature, walking at my own pace while I listen to music that makes me happy. I joyfully move, feeling stress leave my system, then I start wiggling in a way that would be horribly embarrassing if I cared at all what passersby thought. Fortunately, I don’t.

Shrek prefers to inconvenience people. Ten minutes into most walks, he falls to the ground, having sprained yet another body part, and then the kindly folks who reside in the 55+ community where my mom used to live have to carry him to her door. 

To each his own, I suppose. Shrek’s gonna Shrek.

And I’m glad he does. I delight in any human who embraces their joy. That’s why I’m writing about walks today.

In the last year and a half months, five people in my life died unexpectedly, all of them young.

First, in June 2021, my cousin Sammy passed away. She was 22.

Then, in August, my friend Mandy passed. She was 42.

In October, it was my Dad. He was 60.

Then in December, my college roommate Ashley. She was 32.

In January 2022, it was my friend T. She was 48. 

The causes were all over the map. There was a freak allergic reaction. Struggles with addiction. Covid. Leukemia. Losing the battle to PTSD.

Heavy stuff. Hard stuff.

And all unexpected.

My deep spiritual beliefs have kept me from sinking into despair. Each of these beautiful souls who passed–I believe they simply left their Earthly body. That they returned to Source. I don’t know what happens next, but I believe it’s peaceful. Joyful. Soul-nourishing.

And, when I’m out wiggling my way through a peaceful, joyful and soul-nourishing walk, I frequently think of these loved ones. “I wonder if my Dad would have taken more walks if he knew his time on Earth was ending,” I’ll find myself thinking.

“Would Ashley have gone for a walk every single day if she knew that her health wasn’t going to last?”

Thoughts like that.

Simple musings. What if’s.

What would they do differently if they knew?

Then I walk some more, flooded with gratitude. What a gift to have legs that work. A body that can stroll. Healthy lungs. Beautiful views. Music that makes me want to wiggle.

I soak it in, cherishing the act of doing something I love. Knowing that, if I were to lose my mobility or my time on Earth were to end, I would be happy with every single moment that I spent strolling.

Every. Single. One.

I don’t feel that way about answering emails or sitting through meetings. I don’t feel that way about doing laundry or washing the dishes. 

But walking? It does it for me. Solo walks in nature make me over-the-moon happy to be a human on Earth. To live in this adorable little meat suit, floating through space on a blue green gem of a planet.

I don’t know what the walking equivalent is for you. I don’t know if roller skating lights your heart up. I don’t know if sticking your head under a waterfall fills every cell of your human body with ecstasy.

I don’t know if it’s family game night or sharing a meal with loved ones or playing your Native American flute while dancing with your wild woman tribe. Maybe it’s your morning writing practice or the business you’re building.

I don’t know. But I do know that we won’t be on Earth in this form forever. And, two days away from the one-year anniversary of my dad’s passing, I feel very clear on the importance of prioritizing the things that make me grateful to be here. 

So I’m prioritizing them.

I hope that you’re able to recognize the things that fill you with delight. That make your heart sing. That flood you with gratitude and awe. That make you say, “You know, this human thing–it’s pretty nifty.”

Then to do them. To prioritize them. So that someday in the very far future, when one of your friends is wiggling her way down a mountain trail, she doesn’t have to wonder if you would have gone for more “walks” if you’d known your time on Earth would be cut short.

Instead, she can smile in delight, knowing that you did your thing. Your rollerblading, your family game night, your hippie trippy drumming. Even when you had a zillion emails piling up in your inbox and a sink full of dirty dishes, you found that hour or five for your joy. And maybe you posted about it on Instagram or sent a picture or wrote annoyingly long blog posts every morning. In some form, you let your people know. You told them what brought you joy, then you shared your joy when you did your thing.

Stubborn gladness. That’s what I wish for you. Today and all days.

And, for those of you who currently live a joyless existence, who feel so low that nothing sparks your gladness—I see you. I’m sending a hug. And I’m promising you that I’ve seen people (myself included) regain their spark. There’s hope.

Keely