Life, a melting ice cube

How fleeting our existence is

José Parlá, on display at the Brooklyn Museum

Hi friends & happy Sunday,

Author Mel Robbins has written about how life is like a melting ice cube, an analogy I love. As each moment ticks by, the ice melts a bit more. At some point, the entire cube melts, the time in our life runs out, and we’re no longer here. It’s not sad but empowering — life is precious and fragile, and we don’t know how much time we’ll have together. When I think of my life’s ice cube slowly melting away, year by year, I decide to go forward toward my ideal life of progress, enjoyment, and love.

In the melting ice cube metaphor, a sense of urgency emerges.

“Your whole life is about these little things you do every day,” Robbins has said.

“Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life,” said Omar Khayyam, 1,000 years ago.

Death can remind us that we spend too much time on stuff that doesn’t matter. Recent funerals I’ve attended have enhanced my appreciation for these fleeting moments on Earth, a miracle planet. We are miracle creatures, too, biological wonders moving about our sun in a nearly circular orbit. Our planet is humming at 67,000 miles per hour, and gravity keeps us grounded in Earth’s soil, with the people and things we love. Life is a perpetual state of miracles. We’ve already won the lottery of being born.

Here’s Steve Jobs, a few years before he died of cancer:

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life.

Almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.

Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

Source: The Daily Stoic

Our to-do lists will likely never cease. At work, some people are “too busy” for exercise or nature or dinner with friends and family. But many things we think are essential are not. Recent thoughts to this effect:

• More exercise, less sitting

• Less texting & emailing, more walking outside in fresh air

• Less alcohol, more water & vegetables

• Less monotony, more creativity (Steinbeck: “And this I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world.”)

• Less what “looks good on a resume,” more pursuing what makes one come alive

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The tiny beautiful moments of coming alive happen unexpectedly, like many of the best things in life. Often for me, they involve getting lost in a story, book, or piece of writing. In the outside world, the images that pop into my head are human-to-human moments of meeting strangers, witnessing kindness or craftsmanship, and falling upon serendipity, like when a friend, Kent, noticed an older lady struggling to cross a Manhattan street. It had been raining, and there were a couple of puddles. Kent noticed her hesitancy and guided her to the other sidewalk.

I think of another stranger, cleaning the sidewalk outside our local movie theater. Unprompted, she complimented my blue eyes. There’s also Tony, our building custodian/maintenance guy, who stops what he’s doing to say hello and see how others are doing. He says he takes good care of the building’s floors and windows because “I treat this building like it is my home.”

I also think of one of Ally’s cousins we met in Italy. She said the family had recently dealt with two deaths, and the pain wasn’t fading. She knows her best choice is to keep forging ahead. “I smile,” she said, “because we have suffered so much.”

What tiny beautiful interactions stick out in your day-to-day life?

This isn’t a game; it’s our “one wild and precious life,” as the late poet Mary Oliver put it. We ought to caretake it with all we have, inject adventure into life, and not be too busy that we miss what matters. What do you love? Where do you find the magic of life? Making pasta or bread, hanging with your children at the park, writing poetry? May we not let adulthood steal our creative spark and sense of awe.

“Lift your life to its highest calling,” Oprah has said. “Dwell in possibility.”

Parting thought: “The ability to wake up to another new day — one with which we will surely need to wrestle and reckon, but one that will also teach and transform us … this is the unpromised gift for which to be grateful.” — Kristi Nelson

Celebrate your gifts,

Matthew

P.S. — Thank you for reading and trusting me with these words, a privilege I don’t take lightly. If Inner Peace has helped you in some way, please consider forwarding this email to someone you care about.