life

Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays with Morrie is a beautiful, timeless, ever-relevant book in my opinion. The book chronicles the weekly (every Tuesday, hence the title) conversations that Mitch Albom had with his professor, Morrie Schwartz, who was diagnosed with a terminal illness.

Morrie taught me a lot about death and how to approach life after having accepted death. In Morrie’s own words, “once you learn how to die, you learn how to live.”

Like quite literally anyone in my life, I too am deadly afraid death. I think about all my hopes, desires, people I love, and the stuff that I would miss out on. I end with the realization that I’m not ready yet. I need more time. On the other hand, Morrie, a man who struggled with a painful illness, made death sound almost friendly. He took away my fear from it.

One of the many things that scare me about death is being forgotten by my loved ones. I feel like this is a fear that many of us have, hence why we’re so hellbent on “leaving a legacy” by working so freaking hard, oftentimes only in our professional lives, to ‘be good enough’ to be known. When Morrie was asked if he shared that same fear of being forgotten once he passes, he explained that he isn’t because even though he isn’t present physically, he knows that the memory of him will continue to hold a special place in all of his loved one’s hearts. He wholeheartedly believed that “love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone.”

After reading this book, which honestly felt more like a long wholesome conversation, I realized that I may be hiding behind love and chasing after time to potentially escape the fear of death. Love is meant to be empowering and something that motivates us to shine brighter. However, I feel like I’ve been using my love for myself and my people to feel like I can extend my lifespan. The book also made it clear that we’re desiring the wrong things in life. The money, status, power, materials won’t bring us anything when our time eventually comes. Love is the greatest entity of all and it’s going to be the greatest superpower of ours when we approach our passing.

I’d like to end with Morrie’s words:

“Don’t let go too soon, but don’t hold on too long.”

I call him Dr. L.

He doesn’t appear to be a solid in form. He’s more of a flowy, gaseous entity composed of black, gray, and tinges of white, which is often overpowered by the black and gray. He starts from the top of my stomach and makes his way to the center of my chest. He sometimes even clouds my mind. He suffocates me: a lump forms in my throat, my mind races to numerous different thoughts. He creates a drowning sensation, making it seem like doing something as simple as taking a breath is an out-worldly task.

No one or anything has ever made me feel like that.

I call him Dr. L, but he’s more commonly known as loneliness.

I was never able to label the feeling of loneliness until the pandemic hit. I sense that it was always there, but I didn’t have the awareness to actually reflect on that feeling.

I was terrified of Dr. L for nearly 3 years. Every time he creeped in, I’d panic because I wouldn’t know 1) why he came, 2) what he wanted, and 3) when he would leave.

I had my Eureka moment last week and think I found my answers.

Dr. L enters when he senses that my boundaries have been crossed – either by myself or others around me.

For example, after returning from some family outing or vacation, Dr. L would often make an appearance the very next day, if not on the plane ride back home. I would always attribute this to the ‘post-vacation blues’ that ‘everyone feels.’ Sure, some part of it could be the ‘blues,’ but the other major part of it was the fact that I was surrounded by people who didn’t make me feel like my most authentic self when I was on that vacation. Thus, Dr. L would abruptly show up to make me realize that very thing: I was not in an environment that gave me the space to be my most authentic self.

Dr. L also almost always makes an appearance when I, myself, cross my own boundaries. When I neglect taking care of myself in the way that makes me feel good (ie, moving my body, writing, spending time with my little man, etc.), he runs on over into my life and makes me feel like the world is ending. In essence, though, what he’s actually trying to tell me is to slow tf down and violently remind me that my mind and body are not aligned.

Realizing this about loneliness and reframing the way I personify this feeling has greatly helped. In fact, I sensed him creeping in yesterday night. When I paused and reflected, I found that I haven’t been sleeping well, eating enough, and have been overworking. Thus, I took the day off from college, sat at home, oiled my hair, worked as much as I could work (did not OVERwork though), watched a movie with my brother, and even read. Dr. L was nowhere to be found.

This is why I’m such a fanatic over the phrase and belief that emotions are data. Loneliness, to me, is one of those many emotions. Its purpose, in my particular life, is to pop off an alarm in my mind when it senses that I am not being true to myself. It tries to nudge me to navigate myself back to my center – my truth. It’s literal data. Life-saving data.

Listen to your emotions, your feelings, and your thoughts. ❤

Esha Kode

Tuesdays with Morrie – a reflection

an epiphany about loneliness