#51. A Life on Loan

I try to meet with my inner child regularly, though life can sometimes, or often, pull me away. But recently, she came to me, not in a dream, nor in some mystical vision, but in the form of my 6-year-old nephew. I watched myself watching him, noticing the moments when "not right now" or "I'm busy" stirred too easily on my tongue. The space between us stretched thinner, an echo of all the times I’ve told myself the same thing: not now, later. I don’t want to keep her waiting. Through him, I find another way back.

He was writing a birthday card for my dad, and I asked if he knew what he wanted to say. Then, because I can't help myself, I told him to make sure he felt love when he wrote it.

"What does love feel like to you? Where do you feel it in your body?" I prompted.

(He must know by now that I'm a therapist.)

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a breath, and said, "I feel it in my heart!"

I asked what, exactly, he felt in his heart.

Another pause. And then, "It feels like the first time I do something, like when we went to Hawaii and I went swimming in the deep water." Ah. Love feels thrilling. Joyful. Like the first time. Like being exactly here, now.

He'll be an excellent client in therapy one day.

I turn his words over in my being, the way they feel like a pulse, a heartbeat. Did love stop feeling like that for me? Or, maybe a better question is—when do I still feel it? And in that way? When does my heart surge with the thrill of the first time, instead of the weight of all the times before?

In Reasons Not to Worry, Brigid Delaney references Seneca, who warned against "anger [that] lasts longer than the damage done to us." It made me wonder—how often do I hold onto feelings, including love, in the same way? Are the traces of past experiences clouding my ability to be fully present with what is new, fresh, invigorating?

I finished Jitterbug Perfume by Tom Robbins, a novel not so much about immortality as it is about the desperate yet exhilarating quest to transcend death. I'm now in the midst of reading Reasons Not to Worry, which isn't strictly about mortality, but about Stoicism, particularly as a framework for making peace with anxiety and fear about, among other things, death.

One book made me feel like there exists a legitimate chance to live forever. The other made me feel like I should probably prepare better for death. Fiction versus philosophy, but aren’t all our fictions just dressed-up truths? We lie to ourselves all the time, knowingly or unknowingly. We read, we get ideas, we believe. We double down, we share, we live, we die for these beliefs. I want to live to 130 or beyond. Maybe I’ll search out the Bandaloop. Or at least learn the dance.

I’ve been thinking about mirrors again. I know I always return to this, but it’s true—everyone is a reflection, whether we like what we see or not. Sometimes I catch glimpses of myself in people I resent, like a certain person I worked with until recently. His pride, his aggression, his refusal to bend. Those very qualities live inside of me, too, though I tell myself that, of course, I’m not as bad. And then there are others—people whose integrity and commitment to living fully in alignment with their ultimate knowingness make me ache with wanting. Not because I don’t have it, but because I know I could embody it more fully.

We are, all of us, alive, but we are always, also, on the precipice of death. And for some, that makes life intoxicating. For others, paralyzing. Fight, flight, freeze, collapse. Some practices exist to help us hold on longer, to chase the illusion of forever. Others exist to remind us that nothing is ours to keep. Immortality feels like ownership. Mortality is knowing that this life is on loan.

I think about my nephew again, about the way he described love. The first time. The nowness of it. Maybe that’s the real secret to staying alive. Not forever, but fully. Maybe that’s the only kind of immortality I need.

As always, with love and thanks,

BROOKIE

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The 9 core tenets of Stoicism:

1. Virtue is the highest good – Focus on wisdom, courage, justice, and temperance.

2. Focus on what you can control – Control your thoughts and actions, not external events.

3. Accept what you cannot control – Embrace external circumstances without resistance.

4. Live according to nature – Act in harmony with reason and human nature.

5. Practice mindfulness and self-awareness – Be aware of your thoughts and emotions.

6. Be indifferent to external outcomes – Don’t base happiness on fame or wealth.

7. Memento Mori (Embrace mortality) – Acknowledge death to appreciate life.

8. Amor Fati (Love of fate) – Accept everything, including challenges, as opportunities.

9. Cultivate resilience – Build mental strength to endure adversity.