I really don't know life at all

Every once in a while, I have what I call a “Joni Mitchell moment.”

It's when something inside me feels unsettled. Maybe I'm feeling lost, emotional, uncertain, or simply unable to put my finger on what is happening. So, I turn to her music, and somehow, her words seem to find me exactly where I am.

Today, it was Both Sides Now.

I found myself listening differently. Certain words landed in a place I hadn't quite visited before, and I cried. Not necessarily because I was sad, but because something about them felt so familiar. So true.

There is one thought in particular that has stayed with me: "I really don't know life at all."

I have spent nearly two decades working alongside people who are dying, sitting with families, witnessing goodbyes, heartbreak, extraordinary love, and moments of humanity that are difficult to put into words.

People often ask me what death has taught me. How has being present for so much of it changed the way I see life?

My answers are usually familiar ones. That life is fragile. That we should savor the ordinary moments. That we shouldn't wait to appreciate the people we love or the lives we have been given. That I have a deeper appreciation for my own life because of the lives I have been invited into.

And all of that is true, but lately, I have been sitting with another realization. Perhaps one of the greatest things death has taught me is how little I actually know about life.

I still get nervous. I still feel fear. I still have moments when I am shocked by the unfairness of it all. I don't always understand why things happen, why some people get more time than others, or how something so beautiful can also be so heartbreaking.

And yet, alongside all of that, I feel gratitude. Amazement. Wonder. Curiosity.

I find myself looking back at the life I have lived, acknowledging the places I have been, the people I have loved, the things I have lost, and the person I have become. I look at where I am today and wonder about what might come next.

I don't have those answers either, in fact, sometimes I question my purpose. Am I doing what I am supposed to be doing? Am I making a difference? Does my contribution matter? Am I spending my time in ways that are meaningful?

And then I find myself questioning the questions. Am I searching for answers because I need reassurance? Am I looking for approval? Am I trying to feel relevant or to prove that what I do matters?

And when I sit quietly with myself, I realize that isn't really it. I don't think I am searching for recognition, I think I am simply trying to understand my place in this incredibly mysterious experience we call life.

I feel, with a deep sense of peace, that this is where I was supposed to land. This work, these conversations, these families, this community, and these moments of sitting beside someone when words are no longer enough. There is something about being present for the end of life that has made me feel more connected to life itself.

But it hasn't made me an expert on living. It hasn't made me fearless or given me some extraordinary understanding of what it all means.

If anything, it has made me more aware of how much I don't know. And perhaps that is where I am finding a different kind of wisdom. Not in having the answers, but in becoming more comfortable with the questions.

I am learning that I can feel grateful and afraid at the same time. I can feel peaceful and uncertain. I can love my life and still wonder what comes next. I can feel deeply connected to my purpose without needing to understand every part of it.

Maybe we spend so much of our lives trying to figure things out that we forget there is something rather extraordinary about simply being here, experiencing it all. The beautiful, the heartbreaking, the confusing, the unexpected, and everything in between.

I don't know what the next chapter holds. I don't know what else I will learn, who I will become, or where life will take me. But I am here. I am paying attention. I am still curious. And I am still finding reasons to be amazed.

I think I will let that be enough for today. Because after all these years of sitting with death, perhaps the most profound thing I can say about life is this: I really don't know life at all.

And somehow, that realization feels less like an admission of ignorance and more like an invitation to keep living, keep wondering, and remain open to all that I have yet to understand.

xo

Gabby