Firsts and Lasts
When we're born, life is filled with nothing but firsts.
First breath
First steps
First words
As we move into adolescence, life still seems like an endless experience of firsts. Many of these are modern day rights of passage into adulthood.
First car
First date, first love, first broken heart
First job, first paycheck, first promotion
First apartment
First mortgage
Most of the amazing things from childhood are still miracles. We breathe without effort. We walk without thinking. But these things have slipped into the background and are taken for granted. In early adulthood, for most of us, the idea that we will eventually die is so remote we don't even think about it. And if we do, it's such an abstract exercise it hardly registers as a concern.
Somewhere along the arc of our life, if we live long enough, we cross a threshold and begin to accumulate more "lasts" than "firsts." Our last day on the job as we move into retirement. The last paycheck. The last pair of shoes we're likely every to need. The last hike up to the summit of a mountain we used to virtually sprint up when younger, but now takes our breath away. The last time we see family members and long-time friends as their arc ends and they pass from this world.
Some of these "lasts" I haven't or won't miss. The last time I ever had to show my ID to buy a bottle of wine. The last car payment. The last mortgage payment. The last time on an airplane (and all the security theater that entails). The last time I'll ever wear a tie. There are also some people I'm grateful for not having to ever deal with again, happily relegating them to a vast and indifferent vacuum of space where they no longer have the oxygen to influence in my life.
I've thought about my own mortality from an early age. Growing up in a house with a father confined to a wheelchair since 1949 (polio) drives home the fact human bodies are fragile and that just about everything in the natural world is bent on our destruction. The fact he never came to terms with the hand he was dealt meant childhood and adolescence were a miserable slog. I spent a good portion of my eleventh and twelfth years thinking about ending the misery. A lucky encounter with Epictetus and an epiphany on my 13th birthday sorted things out and stopped the compass from spinning. Memento mori, indeed. Amor fati, because what choice does one really have?
I paid my way through college working a variety of jobs. One of them was as an orderly/aide in several nursing homes. Usually the night shift. Some of the people I helped take care of were very prominent in the local society, once upon a time. By the time I met them, they had been forgotten. Maybe, "left behind" would be more accurate. The people and the time they had known was now all in the past. There were very few left to remember them. As it was with them, so shall it be with all of us. Indeed, these experiences gifted me a very clear picture of what time does to physical and cognitive health. I resolved to make the most of my youth and put in place some easy decisions about steering clear of drugs and other reckless behaviors.
As I age, I intend to continue adding to the tally of firsts. And I intend to be much more deliberate and selective about how I do that. Looking back, too many opportunities to count were left on the table owing to competing demands, the weight of heavier responsibilities, or simple neglect and indifference. I don't have "f**k you money" so much as I have "no, but thank you" money, but it's enough to allow me to say "no" to a great many things I'd rather not do and say "yes" to the kinds of experiences that enrich my life and the lives of people I care for.
Q and I are off to India in a few days. Digital nomads for a month. I expect this to be a solid four weeks of firsts and unique experiences. I expect this will change me. How and to what degree remains to be discovered. If I think what I discover is interesting, I'll write about it here.
Photo by Mary Blackwey on Unsplash