For a moment, I was thinking I’d write today about how much I miss Ireland, about how I’m mentally unprepared to go back to work tomorrow, and about how I’ve already broken all of the New Years’ resolutions that I have yet to make.  They are, of course, the same ones that carry over from year to year:

1. Eat in.  Learn to cook.

2.  Sign up for those French classes you ditched last year.  And the year before…

3.  Simplify.  Don’t over commit.  Learn to say no.

4.  Open your mail.

5.  Save.  No, like really.

6.  Get more sleep.

7.  Get out of the house.

8.  Leave work at the office.

9.  Stop procrastinating.

10.  Keep in touch.

But then I thought… WHY BOTHER? Life is short.

I met a boy.

He is lovely, he is sweet, he is funny, he is cute.

He also happens to have been recently informed by his doctor that he has nine more years to live.

From the day that V introduced me to him (the day after New Years’), right up until this present moment, I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this concept.  My thoughts have run the gamut, from:  ”How dare that doctor…! Who does he think he is…God?” to “What a random number. How did he pick nine? Did he round down? Or up?  Is it ethical to make a prediction like that?”

WHAT IF HE’S WRONG?

I’ve also got a couple choice words if I ever meet this doctor in person.  (They are similar to the words I have ready in case I ever meet the Kaiser doctor who told my last roommate that she, “unequivocally COULD NOT, AND WOULD NEVER, HAVE A BABY!”  Despite his medical “certainty,” nine months later, I lost a great roommate as she had to move out and over to the East Bay with her boyfriend to take care of her new little bundle of joy…)

Maybe I caught him on a good day, but he seemed to be taking the news in stride.  He wasn’t exactly chipper, but he wasn’t downtrodden either.  He had been living in Canada, but upon receiving the news, flew back home to Galway to be with his family and to be close to his doctors.  He didn’t seem overly frail, but he wore a cap to cover the hair he lost from the chemo, and he told us that he was only recently out of a wheelchair.  When V met him in Dublin, he was walking with the aid of a cane, but he told us that was only because of the unusual ice on the city’s streets.

What would I do if I knew my expiration date (if such a thing is even possible)?  What would you?

How would my life change? Would I make new years’ resolutions? Or would I go out and just try to live life as fully as possible?

Travel always makes me reflect.  Usually when I come back from a trip however, I’m ashamed to confess that I’m not particularly grateful.  I’m usually grumpy.  Being greeted by surly U.S. Customs Agents on arrival certainly doesn’t help either (and yes, I suppose if I had to stamp passports for a living day after day, I’d be grumpy too).  Sure, in the moment, and theoretically, I can acknowledge that being able to jet off to another country for two weeks is a luxury that many can’t afford.  Mostly though, I’m usually thinking of how great it would be if I were independently wealthy and could afford to travel like ALL THE TIME.

Can you imagine?

I’d either sell, or pack all of my things into storage, buy a couple of those “round the world” tickets immediately, call my mother on the way to the airport, and just TAKE OFF.

Meeting “Galway“ has certainly made me repent.  When we arrived in Galway, he came downtown to meet us, then took us on a tour of his city.  V had just met him in a pub the week prior in Dublin, and she couldn’t say enough good things about him.  She said that they instantly hit it off and he offered to give us a tour of his hometown when we traveled west on our way to Connemara.  Having never met him, I was skeptical: “Sure, we can meet him but I am NOT getting in his car.  You just show me where you keep the pepper spray and I’ll keep an eye on him.  Trust.” Warm-hearted, kind, “old soul,” my arse.  I’ll believe it when I see it.

But she was right. He was warm, he was kind, he was generous.  Quiet, calm, inquisitive, reflective.  Not after anything.

We spent an afternoon with him–he took us to a beautiful beach, then to a favorite pub where we talked about life over pints of Guinness, cups of tea, clam chowder and potato skins.  He gave us directions to get through the maze of 5 billion roundabouts that almost ruined our trip out west.

I wish I could have spent more time with him.

Still, those few hours have had a profound impact.  I’m not doing resolutions this year.  I’m focusing on the here and now.  I’m determined to be content.  I’m going to take life and each day as it comes.

Nine…

Galway