The last time it happened to me I was running on the treadmill.
I think of death at the most random times, but I guess running in place in tight stretchy pants is as good of time as any. I wasn’t thinking about being scared of death, or what will happen when I die, but literally just death. That this life will end eventually. Regardless of what I look like, no matter how healthy I am, or how many good karma points I rack up… Eventually, I will die.
I don’t care how I die. I mean, I care of course, like it would truly suck if I died in a stupid way… Like, if I fell off the treadmill while running, have an over-dramatic fall, somehow twist my head and neck and die. I think the only cool thing about dying like that is that the paramedics would come find me in prime spandex territory.
And if I do die via a horrid spandex treadmill fall, so be it. One day; however, I will die. It will probably be a sunny day… with like little kids laughing in the background, butterflies fluttering in the yard, and a cloud in the sky that spells out my name.
I have discovered that I can live my life any way I want to, so why worry about what hasn’t happened? I have realized that regardless of where I am in my life, I am here. Plain and simple. Accepting it. That is all there is to it. I accept where I am. Crappy day at work? Fine, yes, it sucked, acknowledging it, letting it sit there like a rotten sour patch kid. But then I just realize, fine, bad day…. Going to let it be a bad night too? Accept that it was a bad day, and move on.
Same thing goes with where I am as a single (and sexy, but I’m biased) woman itching closer to the age of 30. I have been in long-term wonderful relationships, 3-week rendezvous, two-day flings, and 4-month love affairs, and yet, here I am…. to be continued…