The fragility of life is what makes it beautiful. Sounds a bit morbid I know but hear me out.
Unfortunately our time is finite. The moments we are a part of make up the library of us. I was reminded of this once more over the seasonal period.
Despite being an introvert and dressing like the love child of Johnny cash and a vampire, I love Christmas.
Not the present giving materialistic indulgent part. Just the spirit of connection, spending time with a community of people and feeling what some may call that Christmas magic.
As I reflected on this past holiday season, I understood once more why this time of year is so important.
Here comes the slight morbid part…
We are only going to get a certain amount of these events with all the people we care for. This is the reality of life – it’s fragile and will change often. Yet, it’s fragility is the very same thing which makes it beautiful. It should, if anything, make us more present in these moments.
The beauty lies in the fact that it won’t last forever. Nothing does but that’s ok. If it was limitless, then we would never be able to fully appreciate the moments we have.
Many of us can take for granted that it will always be this way. The annual events with the same people, doing the usual stuff. But sadly, change is inevitable and can be cruel.
This is certainly a realisation I’m more aware of as I age. Reflecting on one’s mortality is never a cheerful moment, but I find it makes you appreciate everything you have that much more.
So, I encourage you to really appreciate these moments in your own life. Be present as much as possible in these moments with all the people you care for.
Life is fragile but it’s this fragility which makes it beautiful. Understanding the moments we have are finite, can allow us to appreciate them even more.
Take nothing for granted.
This thought reminded me of one of my favourite quotes, first shared with me through an interview with Brandon Lee:
“Because we don’t know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. And yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really.
How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four, or five times more? Perhaps not even that.
How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless…”