Simplicity by Sunny

When I got home last night, there was a voicemail from my doctor’s office.  “Please call us at your earliest convenience.”

I lost my breath.  I had my regular check-up two weeks ago, something bad must have shown up.  I’ve had my share of health concerns - been in the hospital, filled with pain, lost sleep waiting for a biopsy.  It’s not fun.  What’s worse than my own experiences of being sick are the memories of my mom suffering from cancer.  It began when she was 28.  Since I’m now 28, I realize how devastated she must have been, knowing her life wouldn’t be the long, thrilling ride she’d expected.

After listening to my voicemail once more, I did what any reasonable person would do.  I ran to the nearest establishment serving chocolate milkshakes.  While ripping off the lid and peeling out of the drive-thru, I dialed my best friend.

“Please assure me that I’m not going to die!”  I exclaimed when she answered.

“Since it sounds like you’re driving, the odds aren’t in your favor,” came her quick response.  “What’s that weird slurping?”

I was dipping French fries into my chocolate milkshake.  This is stress eating, Sunny-style.

Our conversation eased my tension, but once I hung up, my mind began churning.  What if I was dying?  I thought of the things I haven’t done yet.  Like float in a hot air balloon or stand in the middle of a river while fly-fishing.  What if I didn’t get to see my friend get married this July?  Would I ever lick garlic and olive oil from my lips at a Tuscan bistro?  Sleep in a hammock?   

Why haven’t I spent time going after the things I love?  It’s been ten years since I went swimming in a lake, despite how much I crave an immersion in clean, cold water.  I adore strawberry and Nutella crepes, but only eat them on special occasions.  Red is my second favorite color, but I don’t own anything red.  I keep saying I’m going to learn the tango, complete with rose bitten between my teeth, but I never do.

It can’t be over.  I haven’t laughed enough.  I haven’t loved enough.  I haven’t eaten enough crepes!

When I was little, my mom took me to an antique car show.  We stopped in front of a 1964 Cobra Roadster – cherry red and topless - a sexy beast designed to hug a California highway.  “Wow, Sunny, look at that,” she said.  “Just once, I’d like to drive a red sports car.” 

That was her style.  Red convertible, yellow bandana.  Whenever I see a red sports car, I think of her.  She did many incredible things, but she never got to turn the wheel of a saucy Roadster.

At 8 am (and not one second later), I called my doctor.  “Am I dying?  Please, just give it to me straight, Doc.”

Phew.  Seems I’ll live a while longer.  Some tests are needed, yes, but I’m not faced with anything as drastic as I’d feared.  But that Roadster came roaring back.  I saw the chrome, the curvy lines.  My throat constricted as I heard my mom’s wistful tone.  “Just once…”

This is my life.  Right here.  Right now.  Maybe I don’t have as much time as I think.  Will knowing the tango make my life more worthwhile?  Will fly-fishing create instant fulfillment?  Will these things erase any regret if I die young?

It’s not the tango, not the fly-fishing, that makes life amazing.  It’s who you’re dancing the tango with.  It’s who snaps your picture while you proudly display your brilliant (and slimy) catch.  It’s the people you love, the people who love you.  Being without friends would be my regret.

It’s sensation, too.  It’s not really the tango – it’s the striking of heels on a ballroom floor, twirling until your hair falls loose, hands seizing your hips, licking the sweat from your lip.  It’s not really the fly-fishing – it’s the rushing water against your thighs, standing in the midst of peace, the snap of your wrist, the sun melting your cheeks.  Being deficient in sensations would be my regret.

For my mom, it wasn’t the Roadster.  It was the wind, the freedom, the sass.  I don’t think she’d regret not having zoomed the coastline in a vintage convertible for a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Know what I think she’d say?  “Sunny, I should’ve driven with the windows down every day.”

If I had only one year left, I’d devour the moments.  I’d breathe deeper.  Kiss longer.  I’d banish the words, “maybe tomorrow”.  And because my life could end any moment – no day is guaranteed – I’m already breathing deeper. 

Tomorrow I’m spending time with my friend.  I’m going to hug her until she asks if I’ve gone crazy.  Then I’m going to buy a rose to bite before checking the price of renting waders….and I’m driving with my windows wide open.