EXPIRATION DATE

Over the weekend, my classmate Richard Holloway, passed away at the age of 56.  He had battled a myriad of health problems over the last few years, problems that caused stress in every area of his life.  His heart finally gave out on Saturday.  He left two grown children, two siblings and his mother.

When the word spread amongst our classmates, the response was pretty predictable.  We've been through this before,  Richard was the 32nd member of our class to pass away.  Many expressed condolences to his family, some expressed sadness and regret, some send cards, some will attend the services.  But we all have this "pause."  We pause to contemplate the death of a long time friend who happens to be the same age as all of us.  We don't miss the reality that it could have easily been one of us.  Then the final thought: another reminder that life is fragile and brief and we have to appreciate each day.  It sinks in a little deeper with the passing of every classmate.

It's almost a cliche now to talk about appreciating every day when we face the death of a loved one.  But we need sadness to understand the joy of our happiness, we need noise to feel the serenity of silence and we need death to give value to life.  Though we all understand the reality of our imminent death, we put it out there as something to fear and avoid, some unknown date where all of the things we love and cherish will cease to exist.  Appreciating each day means we harness that fear into a different perception of how we live our lives.

I had a chance to sit quietly in the moments after I found out the news of Richard's passing.  I went through my normal cycle of thoughts when a friend passes and promptly arrived at the "I have to appreciate each day" place.  But it was different this time and I felt compelled to take that thought further.  I needed to create a greater sense of urgency, beyond just having a better attitude, I needed to have something to work toward.  Then it came to me.  I needed an expiration date.

Trying to "appreciate every day" is difficult to maintain when you have an unknown amount of time to work with.  But what if you knew when your life was going to end? What if you could pick the date?How would that change the way you live your life now? What if your "due date" was December 21, 2011? Would you still be doing what you're doing now? Would it change what you're going to do today? Would it change the face of your relationships?

None of us knows the date that we are going to die, but we do have the ability to end parts of our lives that are not working for us and begin again.  If we put a date out there where we intend to end the life we have and start a new one based on a different version of ourselves, we create a natural evolution that ensures we are growing and expanding.

Like most people, I have lots of unfinished things in my life, issues that are unresolved, goals that have not been met. I decided to give myself some time to finish up the life I have now, to tie up all my loose ends, make amends where I need to and learn to live a life that's motivated by things that I love and not the things that I fear.  I set a date in the future where I want to end this life that I have now and just take the good things about Benson Medina into my next life.  You'd be surprised how much your perception changes when you have a concrete date circled on the calendar.  The notation on my calendar reads, "End of My Life" in big letters.

I've had a rich life of experiences, but I don't have to carry the pain, grief and sadness into my next life. I don't have to be limited by what I've failed at or didn't accomplish.  I don't have to carry this large, slow body for another 30 years.  I have the power to start changing all that right now.

Richard's in a better place now, free of the suffering, stress and issues that consumed his life.  I'm sure he's enjoying his new life a lot more than his old life.   But do we really have to die to start a new life?

Give yourself an "expiration date" and you'll get the answer to that question.