What if you just found out you had six months to live? How would you spend your time? What would you start doing? What would you stop doing? What would become most important to you?
Imagine it. Now. How would you answer these questions?
Before I go further, I want to be very clear that my health is reasonably good and I have no reason to believe I won’t live a full life. I don’t want to needlessly alarm you.
That said, I intend to answer these questions, as it applies to me.
This is my pilgrimage. Let me explain. Long journeys have always attracted me. When I was a kid, I wanted to hike the length of the Appalachian Trail. As a young adult, I wanted to drive to the tip of South America. I still want to “sail off the edge of the map.” Logistics and personal safety were and are obstacles.
As I’ve gotten older, my aspirations have become more spiritual and personal growth-y. I did actually go on a pilgrimage with my son while in Japan, to 32 Buddhist temples. I’ve looked at the Camino de Santiago, the “Way of St. James” in Spain. It’s a strange obsession, given my intense dislike of camping!
There’s one problem with me—in particular, me—withdrawing from the world to take a pilgrimage. Pilgrimages allow people to get away from the maddening pace of life, slow down, be in solitude, and consider what’s important in their lives. But solitude is not good for me.
You see, I’ve been semi-retired since I was 39 years old. “Must be nice,” I hear you say! It is and it isn’t. What’s nice is that I can decide what I want to do with my life without the usual constraints of time and money. What’s not nice is that, after so many years without daily contact with friends or coworkers, I’ve become isolated, depressed, and unmotivated. I’m not the kind of person who makes friends easily, or maybe I should say that I avoid the vulnerability needed in order to engage with strangers and form friendships. I’m also prone to depression. So this was not a good prescription for my retirement. It’s taken its toll.
So a typical pilgrimage is not for me. I need something that will kick my butt into gear and get me engaged with life and other people again. Here’s the plan:
April 5th is my birthday. On this day I start a six month clock. I will take my “farewell tour” early (hopefully decades early). This has several advantages that appeal to me. I may not get six months’ notice of my actual death. I may not be in good health. Others will pass before I do, and—one by one—I’ll lose the opportunity to tell them how much they mean to me. And after six months I’ll be “spared,” and will be given my life back again. Because–more than anything–this little project is about life, not death.
I don’t want to pre-plan what happens during the six months. That’s part of the discovery of it. And I don’t want to be self-absorbed about it. But I do know one thing I’ll definitely do, and it will largely take care of the self-absorbed aspect of it.
I don’t really want to travel and see the world. (I’ve done that.) I don’t want to quit my job and go live on a tropical island. (I’ve done one of those.) I know that my “last” six months has to involve other people. To me, that’s what’s most important to accomplish just before I actually die, so I might as well start there. I’m going to visit people, in person, and tell them what they’ve meant to me. And I’m going to blog about it.
I envision the core of the blog as me writing about the people in my life. I intend to write about them and then go visit them in person. Some are decades-long friends. Some were friends for a season. Some I don’t know well, but were hugely symbolic in my life. With a few the friendship ended with hurt feelings. One or two have died. They are spread across all of North America.
It occurred to me that my blog would be kind of a reverse-eulogy. In a regular eulogy, the dearly-departed’s family and friends get together and say nice things about him/her. In my blog, I say nice things about my family and friends. Maybe “nice” isn’t the right word. There’s a certain significance and healing with eulogies. And it is more important that eulogies are spoken than that they are heard.
Perhaps you are reading this because you are one of the people I want to see. This is the easiest way for me to explain why I want to come see you. I hope you will accept my offer. I am happy to answer any questions you might have. Check out Frequently Asked Questions for more info.
Or perhaps you are “looking over my shoulder” to watch this grand experiment as it unfolds. I hope I’m able give you a vulnerable, intimate account that you will find valuable.
With love,
Steve Safigan