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My friend was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

For those unfamiliar with cancer or its qualities, it's as bad as it sounds. The word terminal is rooted in "pertaining to a boundary or end, final or fatal," and fatal itself means "as decreed by fate."

For the word geeks out there, this is for you.

Fate. Such a loaded word.

Fatal shares its origin with death and destiny. We live as if we are going to live forever. As if we have all the time in the world to decree our gifts, to make a difference, or to sing.

To sing.

We live in tiny shaped houses we call home, but these are prisons. We call this fate, but it's more akin to confusion.

We fear letting go and succumbing to death's blind kiss, thinking this indeed is the end, but if we look closely, if we sit in stillness and silence with these teachers, we can see that what we perceived as a loss was destiny, what we perceived as the end was an invitation to live.

Not today, not yesterday, not in 15 years, but now.

When will you stop living like you're never going to die?

New friends and I were reminiscing on the iconic show Breaking Bad. Charlotte, a new acquaintance, felt that the dramatization epitomized the journey of being trapped, particularly for people born into challenging and even deafening circumstances.

Her eyes widened and sparkled as she talked about Jessie, the young drug dealer, and addict with a big heart whose life seemed to be a perpetual downward spiral of bad decisions, heartbreak, and unfortunate loss. She found meaning and energy in rallying for the underdog.

I saw Jessie's life in Breaking Bad differently because it's reminiscent of hard learned lessons and life experience.

I've known and loved addicts, alcoholics, and drug dealers, and I've watched and rallied for these individuals with everything I had, wanting what I viewed as better for them more than they wanted it for themselves.

This romanticized way of thinking traps us and while it makes for grand narrative and television, it robs them and us of our power or spiritual nature.

What does Breaking Bad have to do with my friend diagnosed with cancer or you, the reader?

Jessie died a slow death, which we called his life. My friend is living as if she was dying. How are you living?

Unfathomable circumstances burden Jessie and my friend, yet the one you presume lives is actually dead, and the one who faces death truly knows life.

Our culture romanticizes the underdog in the backdrop of tragedy. It's addictive unto itself, hopeful, and darkly erotic, although people dare not say that.

My perspective assigns Jessie dignity and personal and spiritual power. It removes the belief that he could or would benefit from an escape route out of his choices, and I hold myself to this same standard.

Otherwise, how would we ever learn? And deeper still, where are you believing yourself to be like Jessie?

It's unloving to believe that we are only a product of our circumstances, especially when abused, addicted, or born into life-threatening situations.

We must be better, and we can be better. From an inward standpoint, we choose to be better, sometimes faking it as we make it.

But how do we do better? How do we really live?

We die. You employ a willingness to let go of everything you cling to so fiercely to be free to choose your life. Otherwise, it isn't a choice and it isn't living. It's also not for the faint of heart, but then again, neither is life.

Change the power-depleting people, places, and things in your life to experience one of the most challenging, humbling, and rewarding human experiences of a lifetime.

But the prerequisite, the cost, the mandate of said journey, and the implied desired outcomes, is metaphorical death: the very thing from which we run and the very thing my friend communes with daily and as a result, lives with greater clarity.

Death is a pathway to life.

Our mortality is a gift and it's the exact pathway and journey we misunderstand and bastardize, hiding behind the skirt of life, penniless and powerless, we think. What more can you take in the face of losing what matters most?

Fate.

My friend was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Watching her live is a Masterclass unto itself. They've given her but a few years to live. Whether the doctor's diagnosis is correct or not is for another piece. My point simple--we fearfully and foolishly waste our lives and run from death, the very thing that would encourage deeper living.

Do you believe that we're a product of our circumstances and, like Jesse, despite our good hearts, are fated for bad?

Do you see that if we're willing to let the old go and die as it would be, we can enact actual change in our lives?

The truth is more complex than any binary offering I share here, but as an exercise of thought and a moment of stillness of looking deeply, where do you lay on this spectrum?

Do you believe in reincarnation or the ever-after?

If you do, try this as a mental exercise: practice thinking that this life is all you got. There's nothing else.

Does your worldview change?

For me, it had to, and it melted and morphed into possibilities and urgency of a soul and heart nature.

I don't have other lives or heaven to get it right. I have right now.

As the saying goes, you don't have to wait until you have cancer to start living, but many wait until the unthinkable happens to begin a journey of self-honesty.

What do you want?

What do you need?

When will you live your life versus the one you think other people approve of?

Where are you avoiding responsibility over your life?

Who are you?

Our mortality is a great motivator if we look deeply and see death for what it truly is and ourselves as we really are.

​For more on this topic or to schedule a Life-Changing Conversation, click here. ​

Best,

Lalita

113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle , WA 98104-2205
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