Listen To The Article

–

A Love Letter to Living Fully

I’m writing this in case I die earlier than expected. Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s just that if life takes an unexpected turn, I want my final words to be about living, not about dying.

I’ve always liked the idea of confronting my own mortality. It gives a sense of urgency to my existence that I then use to act on all the things I want to do in life. And the clarity that none of this will matter, those 238 emails in my inbox now, the ill-fitting blouse I’ve to repair before I’ve to attend a wedding, and all the crooks in the world I want to tackle and teach a lesson – is liberating!

If you happen to read this after I’m gone, and you’re missing me, I hope these few words are holding you in a tight hug. Remember how I loved wandering and exploring, so just think of me as gone off to explore a new place.

If your grief tightens your chest, breathe. Take those deep, long, intentional breaths to center yourself. Prana, the essential life force made possible by deliberate breathwork, fascinated me my whole life. Breath always returns us to ourselves.

Since my mid-30’s, I’ve spent most of my life with overwhelming gratitude for all the small and seemingly ordinary miracles of life. That I could eat when I wanted, turn on the fan and relax when I wanted, and to pause long enough to breathe in the scent of wet earth after rain. And my utmost gratitude to those who made life hard – because when my spirits were tested, I find out the true nature of my inner strength.

I learnt a lot about living in the moment from my children, who were not spinning their wheels regretting the past or catastrophizing the future. If I was stubborn, I had learnt it from them to love fiercely and unconditionally even me, their imperfect mother.

Forgive me. Forgive me for trying to fix things when all you needed was someone to listen. Forgive me for the times I was distracted, for those unread messages and long silences. I wasn’t avoiding you, I was attending to a compulsive need to tend to my inner weather. That was my quiet ritual, listening to my body and intuition so I would not lose my way.

I believed in the marriage of ancient wisdom and modern science. I was awestruck by how our scriptures told a few thousand years ago could be so relevant even in this modern day and age. Our sutras are our practical guides for daily life. Every sacred text, every tradition, ultimately teaches the same thing – live with intention, act with clarity, and return to your inner compass over and over again.

If my absence makes you sad, honor me this way. Live boldly, honestly and usefully. Be authentic, be kind and be of service to those around you. Strive to live in a way that your story is told long after you’re gone. Plant something that will take longer than you expect to bloom. Take time to show atleast one person that you believe in their potential. Most importantly give credit to yourself for trying your best always.

Keep laughing at things that don’t deserve your seriousness. Like they say, take life seriously, but never yourself. I learnt very late in life that I should eat food that loves me back. Don’t make the same mistake. Move your body because that’s the only thing you really own in this world.

Teach anyone who will listen how to be gentler with themselves. Stand up for small injustices. Help the marginalized. Play the low stakes game of the revolution – take risks that cost you little but mean everything to someone else.

Yeah, I was afraid of leaving my family behind. I worry about my children and whether I gave them the guiding light they deserved. But, I also know that they’ve enough courage to carry on with all they carry inside of them.

And where have I really gone? As Paul Kalanithi’s book title says: When Breath Becomes Air. I am in the air now. In this space. In this earth. The moment you think of me, I’ll be there, wrapping around you as quietly as breath.

I go now with little fear, but also with an over powering curiosity and openness for becoming one with where I came from. I’ve tried imperfectly and fiercely to live a full life. Someone once told me, to them, I feel like an unexplored abundance of everything. I hope you choose to live that way too – full of wonder and unafraid to feel every emotion deeply.

My story ends early, but you were part of my final chapter. And for that, I’m grateful.
Thank you.