zaywritesitdown

[zaywritesitdown]

Chapter Whatever: I want to die by 40 (not really)

As I embarked on my journey through life, one peculiar declaration became a sort of my signature catchphrase - "I want to die by 40." And yet, when you look at the title of this chapter, you'll notice a crucial caveat: "Not Really." Let’s focus on how the first half real quick.

Ever since I was 17, I'd toss this gem into conversations. I guess part of me thought it was a noble aspiration, going out in a blaze of glory while still young and daring. However, it didn't take long for me to realize that I wasn't some martyr-in-the-making, but rather a strange individual with an unhealthy obsession with morbid humor.

Maybe it was the feeling of being a perpetual hindrance to my friends and family that fueled this bizarre desire. And, to top it off, I had a medical backstory that could make a soap opera writer blush. When I was a mere eight-year-old, doctors discovered a rare cyst, an  arachnoid cyst on my brain stem (It sounds scary, doesn’t it?). The procedure they performed had a name so convoluted it made quantum physics seem like child's play. Essentially, they dug into my brain, poked a few holes, and sewed it shut. In simpler terms, my head was as fragile as a Jenga tower on the brink of collapse. A slight bump to my scar, and it would've been "Game Over."

My mother instilled in me the fear that I was as fragile as fine china, and I started to believe that if even a mere butterfly landed on my enormous head, it would crack open like I was some modern Humpty Dumpty. I was wrapped in bubble wrap, metaphorically speaking, and treated like an irreplaceable artifact. The fear of God and the fear of mother were two sides of the same coin, and I couldn't help but wonder which was worse (only half-joking).

In many ways, I felt like the younger brother in "A Christmas Story" when his mother bundled him up so tightly that he could barely move, all in the name of protecting him from the cold and potential frostbite. Except in my case, it wasn't frostbite I feared; it was the fragility of my own skull.

Somehow, I managed to convince myself that this early exit was justified because, well, as we age, our bodies turn into delicate, well-aged wines, right? I even entertained the idea that dying young would somehow cement my legacy, forever remembered like Tupac or Kurt Cobain. Another part of me believed that by checking out early, I'd save my loved ones from the burden of caring for a fragile soul. But, oh, the allure of FOMO (fear of missing out) was always lurking in the background. 

Now to the 2nd part of the chapter’s name, I can't bear the thought of missing my friends' milestones – the weddings, the babies, the career successes, and the hilarious midlife crises.(Shout to W who will probably end up buying a Kansas City Chiefs themed motorcycle)  Hence the "Not Really" in my plan to meet my maker by 40. If life stopped for me, it still goes on for everyone I care about.

As time rolled on, I came to a profound realization. Life has an incredible way of teaching us the true value of existence. I understood that I held within me the priceless gift of life that some unfortunately don’t experience  .The opportunity to witness my younger brother win a Nobel Prize, to see my best friend's kids grow up, and, who knows, maybe my 3rd husband, Troye Sivan (A boy can dream can’t he)  will host a surprise 80th birthday party for me filled with laughter and stories of a life well-lived.

So, here's the punchline: I've traded my once-flippant desire to go out in a blaze of youthful glory for a new goal. Now, my aspiration is to savor life until I'm 80. Because let's face it, the world is filled with endless adventures and epic fails, and there's no age limit on seizing them. After all, like everyone’s grandpa says, life is a journey, not a destination, and I'm ready to ride the wave until the end. 

This chapter, like life itself, is a work in progress. Here’s to 80!