On Fate and Superstition

Today is exactly 3 weeks prior to my first major surgery. I am 26 (and one half!) years old, and I have never broken a bone, spent time in a hospital or had a serious illness. The idea of mortality is a very academic one. I have developed my beliefs and ideas about life and death, but I have never had to put them to the test. Here are my observations about the manner in which I am approaching this, my first brush (more like a sideways glance, really) with potential death.

I have never feared my own death. The nightmares that wake me in a cold sweat involve the deaths of those I love, not my own. Even now, I feel no fear, no impending doom, no uncertainty. The main reason for this fearlessness is that I am quite interested in what comes next. I am sure that if there is anything to be consciously aware of after leaving this world, it will be something worth seeing. I would miss the joys of this world, my faith in Fate allows me to accept that I will move on when it is time for me to move on.

Which brings me to another reason for my confidence. I believe that Fate causes things to happen when they are supposed to happen (for the most part). I can't even fathom that my time here is done - things are pointing too strongly at the things I have to do. I am not finished with my work, hence things will have to go well.

Of course, there is a fine line between faith and arrogance. It doesn't take much to move from the "Fate wants me to finish my work" to the "Fate wouldn't dare stop me now". This is a dangerous beam to walk, because if you take Fate and its blessings for granted, you are asking for trouble. In a previous post, I questioned my ability to be greatful enough for all the things I have been given. This feeling just gets stronger as time goes on. The more I have, the more I recognize the need to be thankful, lest it all be taken away in one fell swoop. And this is where the slightest touch of nerves hits when I think about the surgery.

I am not about to tempt Fate by assuming that things are going to go perfectly. I know that the chances are very good that I will recover quickly and move on with my life changed only for the better with the knowledge that I have done Something Good. And yet, I am preparing for the worst. I will tie up loose ends. I will complete the paperwork that tells my loved ones what to do if I should die or, even worse, become dependent on machines to sustain me. I will tell people how much they mean to me. I will do all the things I can to show Those In Charge that I am taking nothing for granted. I will be greatful for life, knowing that it can be taken away at any moment. (Something I should be doing anyway, not just because of impending surgery.)

So, here I am, loving my life and knowing that I am only a short way through it, yet preparing to give it up if that is what Fate asks of me. It is an odd, paradoxical place to be in, yet it makes perfect sense to me.