Last weekend, I finally found the cord and the passwords so I could upload some tunes on my iPod with the iTunes card I got for Christmas. More than that, I finally found the tIme to do this in a year that has been consumed by the birth of someone else’s project. A good and worthy project and one to which I have been thrilled to be, if not the midwife, the hand that brings the warm water and bedsheets.
So then I drove to work and hit the “recently purchased” playlist and realized that I had, quite without thinking, composed an excellent playlist for my own funeral. And I listened to this music during a week when I literally felt like I ought to be planning said funeral because I was, to coin a phrase, bone weary. I won’t tell you the particulars of my playlist, but I will note that one song was one I hadn’t heard before and purchased it based on the artist and the 30 second soundbite iTunes gives you. I wanted (and bought) “Perfect Hand” by David Byrne, but then there was this other song, “Here Lies Love,” a song with which I have now fallen in love. (A little digging and I find it is from David Byrne’s project on the Phillippines and, who else, but Imelda Marcos.) Regardless of the inspiration, it has a great chorus:
“I know that when my number’s up
When I am called by God above
Don’t have my name inscribed into the stone
Here lies love…here lies love…here lies love—
Here lies love…here lies love…here lies love” (you can listen to it here)
What a great epitaph that would be–were I to live up to it. “Here lies love.”
So, I’m driving, I’m singing, I’m feeling fairly crappy, and I start to wonder the age-old question: what would I most regret not doing when my clock stops ticking? What’s the one thing I will wish that I had done that I have not yet done? And, having asked that of myself, having thought it deeply and with conviction, the answer rose up exactly and exquisitely as the tulips after a long, gray winter.
I know what my answer is. What’s yours?