As I scroll from LinkedIn’s endless professional advice to Facebook’s personal and family advice, I start wondering how much any of it really matters to me—and to my skeleton at my grave. I mean, just like a sinking Titanic deep at the bottom of the ocean (good for Titanic because some of its stuff and design are left behind), but for skeletal bone? There will be no trace of regrets, laziness, success, precarity.
How do you win life, when you will be dead in the end.
You can stretch life expectancy by all means, by what you can control.
But how?
Being philosophical?
Strategic?
Saving money?
Prepping ahead, planning ahead?
Staying out of trouble?
Minimizing sickness as much as possible?
Is it love and get hurt?
Feeling the humanness and overcome a bit of humanness as a human?
Earn praises, be known, have something to be proud of?
We’re all going to be dead.
Yeah, it seems like I’m only highlighting the goodness.
I know.
I’m just thinking: how much control-as-not-in-control do we really have over this?
It’s silly to ask because we all know the fact.
Just by your genetic makeup, right there, it tells us something.
We are not in control.
You can choose whom to marry, number of kids.
You can choose to build a house, rent a house, immigrate.
For betterness.
Out of boredom.
To maximize your given brain cells and all cells.
But pain, misery, death, sorrow, fear are also part of all this the drama of Life.
You can entertain yourself, help others, feel something else.
Maybe to protect us psychologically into thinking we can make it out of death.
Or numb the thought that we’re going to be dead anyway.
So if no one cheated death.
Cheated aging.
Cheated pain and struggles.
Then why does one “good-as-dead person” irks you?
Counts his advice as weightier than yours?
Makes you feel threatened?
Feel small?
Or envious of them—if we’re going to be dead, anytime, soon, or I don’t know.
We don’t know when.
So why take heart with advice from other people, if for example unsolicited, or you just read them over social media.
Advice is for us to keep us going forward… closer to the end.
To death.
To goals.
To ambitions.
Will it guarantee a smoother, better, less painful, less scary path.
A little less of uncertainty.
Even breathing is uncertain.
What’s certain, for now, is the made-up routines.
But they change, too.
You know, I’m not trying to be thinking deep.
This isn’t deep enough compared to people who keep ruminating, publish it, study it over formal programs.
But why is it for?
There’s nothing as deep as being dead anyway.
You can’t study it beyond death, but to prepare our skeletal-muscle-thinking brain.
Ah, the brain…
Who gives meaning to your skeletal bones.
What’s the point.
I’ll be dead.
You’ll be dead.
What advice, info, coaching can you give to me.
Knowing you’ll be buried not in the same lot and cemetery as me.
So, you see.
Who could care less?
And we’ll die in different ways… at different times… at different stages.
Why would I take your advice, again?
Why would I feel threatened if I have a different route than yours?
With different realities, environment than yours?
Why are you so sure that your ways are better than mine?
What do you think is “you” think. What I think is “I” think.
You and I are a walking dead.
Putting and clothing on accolades, makeup, houses, cars, monies, travels, pretentious, one after another.
Until you and I will think that what’s behind of all that is forever living.
I am.
You are.
So, why is it again I’ll take validation from a walking dead person?
Why is it again I’m not allowing myself to do the things I like and I want?
They say:
Be disciplined.
Be focused.
Be hungry of your goals.
So as to live no regrets.
I would agree.
But unless I can bring that to my grave…
I think, “No, thank you.”
I’ll be on my own.
Basically, what’s left will be my skeleton.
That’s it.
I only belong to the cemetery lot.
Of course, culture, beliefs, families, systems, citizens matter for the living.
For a while, it matters for something.
Whooshbrain 