A few months ago, I went to the Zen Hospice project for an “Open Death Conversation”- a day long immersion on death and dying.

My favorite exercise (well, the one that punched me in the gut) was “The Loss Practice”.

You get 16 post it notes, 4 of each color: orange, pink, blue and yellow.

We had this intimidating, yet loving, instructor with dark black hair and an intense gaze. As she put it, “you’ll never have the same relationship with post its ever again”.

For the first four, line them up in a row, and write down four roles you play. Easy — daughter, partner, lover, leader — done.

Next, four activities you love. Simple enough.

Next, four objects you cherish.

This one was a bit tough. I mean, I like my singing bowls and I can’t do much without a computer….but I ended up jokingly writing “my AcroYoga socks” as my fourth thing.

Next, four people you love.

That’s when shit got real. I mean, FOUR people? Really? What if you have five children, you know? Don’t you think five or six would have been more fair?

The first two were easy, and then the last two were tough. Who do I chose, my best friend or my father? My lover or my co-founder?

There was so much guilt about who made that cut.

So now for the exercise.

Part 1:

Remove one post-it from each category, and place it in the singing bowl.

I removed my AcroYoga socks. I actually lost them for real a week later and thought nothing of it. I also lost a few post it’s that represented sacrifices that I wouldn’t be proud to admit, but no one would fault me for either.

Think about it — at that moment, of the four people I love the most, who could I live without if they were to die?

Part 2:

Take away any four post-it notes.

I am now left with no possessions and the loss of an activity I love.

Look at the post-its you have left. Is that enough for a meaningful life?

And it is.

Part 3

The instructor comes around and will take 2–4 post-its from you, at random.

They are just post it notes.

But they do not fucking feel like it in that moment. I actually start praying. Maybe begging, maybe praying…

Not my mother or my partner. Not my mother or my partner. Please no, not my mother or my partner.

She takes the notes at random. She doesn’t look at what they say. But those are the two she grabbed. With a completely blank gaze (I wonder what that experience is like, playing grim reaper so people can learn more about their attitudes).

I wanted to punch her for taking my post it notes — you know, for just a second.

And the she asks again. Every time- “Look at your life, ask ‘is this enough?’

And it still is.

I had been left with a good many of my roles and activities.

And I felt relief. Its true, upon contemplation, that I would rather be alone with the ability to experience the world, then to be bedridden with my mother and my lover by my side. It’s dark, perhaps, but also real.

— -

Thanks Charlotte Medlock + Jack David Frank for the edits :)