For a moment...contentment.

Once again I’m going to write about death.  If there is a subtext to what I’m actually writing about, it’s contentment, but I have to phrase it around the concept of death.  Or the reality of death.  Still, I don’t know how to write about it and what I want to say without this all sounding like a suicide note – which it’s not.  If I haven’t lost you already, hopefully you’ll continue reading.

Saturday afternoon I was content to die.  What I meant is that, standing in my back yard in mid 80 degree weather, warm breezes, blue tarps drying on the brown dead grass behind me, garden freshly watered and a few more hours of work ahead of me unpacking my camping stuff – I had a clairvoyant moment of contentment.  Looking at the trees in the distance I thought:  “If I died now, I’d be happy with what I’ve accomplished.”

Why this sudden moment of death contentment?  Well, part of it is that “Rowdy” Roddy Piper – a larger than life character from my wrestling soap opera had recently died in his sleep of a heart attack.  Isn’t that how we all want to go?  (Hopefully they won’t find tons of cocaine or meth in his system or gigs of child porn on his computer.)  He was only 61 – eleven years older than me.  When I was a kid he seemed so much OLDER so much more of an icon so much more beyond my age and here he was just 11 years older.  That seems so close – percentage-wise – and we all grow closer in age percentage-wise as we continue to grow older.  Case in point:  When my daughter was born I was 24 times her age – now she’s over half my age.  Where did the time go?

"Rowdy" Roddy Piper

The other reason for this moment was that I was on the other side of our family camping trip.  Everyone was there:  Friends and family.  My mother – pushing 82.  My son and his new wife – seven months into their marriage.  My daughter’s boyfriend who, I think, spent more time laughing than breathing.  When he wasn’t reading, he was either feeding animals or laughing.

As camping trips go, this was pretty spot on perfect.  Went swimming every day.  Had some great food.  Hiked.  Relaxed.  Laid in a hammock.  Stared at trees.  Oh, sure, there were the few bumps and bites but having my children there (who weren’t able to come last year) reinforced all the work and struggle it took to get them to the places in life they are now.

Lake Wenatchee

And now, at that moment, 36 hours from going back to work, and four hours after shoving the last pillow in the crevices in the car – I was content.

Sure, before I know it, I’ll be back to the grind.  Back to the work-a-day world, paying bills, dealing with calendars and schedules.  Writing scripts and half-assed blogs.  Figuring out problems, giving the cat her medicine, deciding what we should have for dinner (pizza) and wrestling with a DVR.

But for a moment I was content.  I didn’t need the Oscar for best screenplay.  I didn’t need the millions from a successful screenwriting career.  I didn’t need the fame of being a writer/producer/director.  I didn’t need to be someone I’m not.  I didn’t need to hide behind a façade of stupid jokes and lame comments.  I didn’t need to be a father, husband, co-worker, friend – I was already contentedly those things.  For those fleeting moments I was just me in my purest simplest form and if I would happen to be struck down at that moment?  I could live with that.