“Begin with the end in mind.”
– Steven Covey, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
“…live deep…”
– Henry David Thoreau, Walden
“What will you ask yourself on your deathbed?”
That’s the question a Buddhist monk asked on Oprah’s show. I heard this story over ten years ago and I can’t find a source to corroborate it. My version may not be factual, but this is the truth that has stayed with me.
“Will you ask ‘Should I have worked more?’ or ‘Should I have made more money?’” the Buddhist monk asked.
“No,” he said. “You’ll ask: ‘Did I love well?’ ‘Was I well-loved?’”
I saw my former father-in-law within months of his dying, my mother within hours, my grandmother within days. All three of them were lying on their backs in their beds under white cotton blankets, their legs and chests almost indistinguishable from the mattress, only their feet and their foreheads raised. They looked like line segments on timelines, their feet marking their births, their heads, their forthcoming ends.
I learned of the monk’s deathbed question in the context of having read Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. Morrie Schwartz, about whom Albom writes, upon learning of his ALS diagnosis, decides to live his final days fully and consciously.
And Morrie’s decisions fell into my initial awareness of living an intentional life because of Dr. Doreen Hunter, who assigned Henry David Thoreau’s Walden
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived… I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.
– Thoreau, Walden
In over a half century of living, I have seen the mean and the sublime.
My mother died at 78, my grandmother at 101. My father is 80. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, but if I don’t, I figure I have a quarter to a half century left to live a conscious, intentional life.
The debate over whether feelings precede thoughts or thoughts precede feelings isn’t of interest to me. I find myself having feelings and thoughts instantaneously, or so instantaneously that I cannot detect the origin of one in or over the other. I believe a great deal of what I have experienced, both the mean and the sublime, has been because of what I chose, consciously and unconsciously, to feel, think and do after that original, instantaneous state.
Awareness of that tiny moment, that small space between the original state and what I feel, think or do next – that’s what I seek. In that moment, if I am self-aware enough, I can choose what’s next. I have such little control over what happens in my life externally. But internally? That’s mine. The next move is mine. Or can be.
If I begin with the end in mind, when I envision myself on my deathbed, I want to be able to sigh with deep and great satisfaction.
As I reflect on my first half century, if I got hit by a bus today and had just a moment of consciousness before I died, I think – I can’t know for sure – that I would feel regret. Enough! To the best of my ability to do so, I intend to continue to learn how to be self-aware enough to choose how I experience my life.
More sublime, please.
Beautiful musing, Anne. I agree with the present moment theory–we spend about 90% of our time in the past and the future, thereby missing the now completely. That’s the reason I meditate, because it keeps me, momentarily at least, in the now. I think the question on the death bed is “did I touch others in a real and loving way.” As one of your other replies said, a personal thank you touches her and those she sends them to in a real way. It’s the small things that matter in the long run, don’t you think? You reaching out to your students the way you did and do is energetic touching, the consequences of which we sometimes know and sometimes don’t. You reaching out to me in that class at USF was a small thing but it has lasted how long and has branches how deep?? Keep writing your beautiful questions and we will be considering our own answers as we read yours. Much love.
“Did I touch others in a real and loving way?” Terry, thank you so much for offering a question! I read it and recognize it, but it’s not one I would have thought of myself. And that the touch can be so small – a thank you note, feeling a connection with someone in a class and reaching out – yes! I see! Thank you, Terry!
Anne,
I am so soothed by your writing here. We all can look back at our past and see some things that we wish we had done differently or reacted to in a more positive way. We cannot change the past and dwelling on it, seems to bring me down.
So I, like you, will focus on what I can do in the future to live like I am meant to live. To care more deeply for those I love, and to show it while I am still here. Small things can mean so much.
I have started a trend of writing Thank You notes when I experience something that touches me. Yesterday we had a LONG business meeting hashing out some crucial things, and 3 ladies made that meeting a wild success. Today while the feeling are still fresh in my mind, and having slept on it, I am writing them each a Thank You. Not an email, but real cards that I created myself from some photos of nature. They are employees mind you, I do not have to do this. I mean I am paying them for being here yesterday. But to really be true to what my heart is telling me, I am going to write Thank Yous.
I am finding that writing thank yous makes me happy. Funny that.
Karen Moore
Karen, I so appreciate your sharing about thank you notes. You helped me remember that a mentor once gave me a similar suggestion – when I was feeling discouraged, to think of people for whom I was thankful and to write them notes. It did mutual good! Thanks so much for commenting!
Thank you so much for the comment, Gail! I had long conversations with my across-the-street neighbor, Roberta, when I was a young woman. I felt very close to her. When she died, I remember waiting for her to contact me. I thought if anyone could reach through, she could. But I felt nothing. When my mother died, I was appalled by the silence. I heard nothing. I remember asking my mother when I was a child, “But what will happen to the energy that is ME?!” Wonderfully thought-provoking question.
The question about what will you ask youself on your deathbed has always been intriguing. I hope I’m actually not questioning at that point, but surrounding myself with people I love or things that make me smile (birds on a bird feeder). But if I am questioning, which knowing me I will be, I’ll be curious about what comes next. An afterlife in heaven? Reincarnation? Light? or will that really be the end?