I stay alive because it's the least I can do after returning from my demise.

On the day I was born, I was cracked open like a big fat farm fresh chicken egg.

After I was cracked open I was scrambled until I was whipped up into a frenetic froth expanding beyond the limits of gravitational pull. There was so much air infused into my cells that I spontaneously evaporated.

By some stroke of luck, a Humpty Dumpty aficionado with sleeves rolled up to the armpits came along and saved me, dropping me back off into the arms of my protector along with the attached message:

This is a second chance. Don't look back to yesterday, don't look forward towards tomorrow. Take a deep breath and remember, yes it is true no one gets out of here alive, but while we are here…..

The rest of the message is unreadable.

I stay alive on a day by day basis knowing that of the 365 days a year, one of them has my name on it, I just don't know which day.

Hence, I stay alive, at least for the moment, because it is not yet my time. But when that day happens, I won't be here any longer. My words may be here, but I will be gone and there is nothing that can change that. And there may be no one to tell you or anyone else that I am gone.

But why do I stay alive? That’s a question that can lean toward, “Why are you still alive?”

My answer is short and simple. I don’t know why I stay alive. I just am.

It’s a question I’ve asked myself often.

Some days I struggle to find answers.

They are embarassingly simple when I do.

Like...

puppy snuggles,

the smell of snow,

campfires,

sunsets,

a good hug,

sweet dreams,

a warm bed,

books,

Christmas,

tacos,

margaritas,

wine.

A part of me believes these answers are too basic.

Seeking a deeper meaning,

a purpose.

Cracking open my brain,

begging for an acceptable answer to surface.

A purposeful reply with more meat on its bones.

Maybe there isn’t one?

Terrifying concept,

viable all the same.

It’s easy to fall into an existential crisis,

the true challenge is climbing out of it...

See...if I don’t, my brother might just fly all the way to this here country and pull me out of my grave...And my best friend will certainly join in this endeavor and come shake me alive again. And...I don’t think I’d like to wake up to such a sight and to the furious speeches that are sure to follow...

Also, by dying (in body, as well as in my soul), I’d be plummeting all those I love into pits of distress and despair; I can’t do that. I just can’t disappoint all those I love, right?

(And yes, there are other people I do love, but I think these two are truly deadset on keeping me alive and kicking AND breathing...How can I let their efforts just pass me by as if it is nothing, when it really is something of such great importance to us all?)

Having stared down the long, slickening bannister imagining stepping into air, a new friend listened and shared his story which helped turn my pain towards the possibility of understanding. A reprieve from feeling separate, exiled, so terribly alone. The trees helped too. They’ve been here much longer than us. In our eyes and arms, branchings of veins and arteries like trees. Walking amidst great, beautiful trees who have survived right where they are without escape, yet with such grace and seasonally budding possibility, with such generosity. Trees and Mary Oliver, and a compassionate monk from Vietnam who all reminded me how to breathe.

’cause i’m too scared

not to,

’cause coffee and music

’cause words and the infinite ways

to assemble them

’cause sunshine and friendship

’cause white wine and good books

’cause wild flowers and chocolate

’cause pink skies and soft lips

’cause what if i’ll give a few children

some confidence

’cause i don’t want to lose it

’cause i don’t like to miss out

’cause i know it can differ

and change and shift

within seconds

and it only lasts one moment

anyways

and i couldn't leave you behind

just yet.

Students.

They depend on me to teach them what they need to know.

They depend on me to identify when they need help with anything.

They don't understand how mentally exhausted I am becoming.

Friends.

They look to me for council.

They look to me for a shoulder to cry on.

They don't ask me how I am doing.

Family.

They say I am the rock.

They say I hold it all together.

They don't see the small cracks beginning to form.

Me.

My fire for life has began to burn dim.

I can think of no reason for myself.

I live for other people.

I stay alive by thinking of the people around me, if I gave in to my urges, and left, my mother would not want to get up. My friends would have no one to listen and try to help. I won't be there for my sister. I won't be able to make my corner of the world better, or comfort anyone, any random stranger that I see. I won't be able to let my writings inspire those who've done nothing to help other people. I won't be able to be there for anyone, or smile at people, even if I'm slowly falling apart inside.

I know I won't win, but those few of you who read this, please try to understand where I'm coming from- I exist to help, and without that, I'm nothing.

What has kept me alive

In my darkest times

Is the promise of a hot cup of coffee

On a damp dewy morning.

I stay for the simple pleasures.

The texture of silk.

The warmth of cashmire.

Things I cannot afford,

But find their way to me.

I stay for the look in someone's eyes

When they realize how deeply I love.

How deeply I love them.

The Earthly plane is a funny one.

There's always trouble abrewin'.

I get myself in the silliest messes

And I do my best to clean them up.

I stay alive to prove that I can.

I stay alive because there's always something to learn.

I stay alive because I am constantly walking along the horizon

Of peace and horror.

And life is a beautiful thing.