My dash is an open book
Last night, I took another walk around Grandview Cemetery and I noticed something that I never had previously.
Philosophers are always writing about “living your dash.” You know, the dash that appears on gravestones between the birth and death dates. A long time ago, I read a passage that questioned readers if the time span from birth to death was actually worthwhile, having made a positive impact in the lives of those around you and the community.
As I walked around the cemetery, I saw the dashes. Some are weathered and barely visible, but others are crisp and recently etched in granite. There were dashes everywhere. I always wonder if those who now call the cemetery home made the dash worthwhile. After all, it’s too late to make an impact once the dash appears on the granite. The leaning stones that look like miniature versions of the Tower of Pisa intrigue me, along with their dashes. The writing is weathered off these white relics and hold a key to the past dating back to Civil War times. The tombstones appear to look as if they will collapse during the next strong wind, yet the stones remain—just as the dashes.
As I cleared my mind and strolled past the stones, I made my way to my grandparents’ stone. I always begin and end my journey there. I have been visiting that stone for years. But on this visit, I noticed something that I have never realized. Of course, I know this stone very well, but this time it hit me—there are no dashes on their stone—names and dates, but no dashes.
As I stood there in near awe at my discovery, things began to make sense. It was as if I was getting a message that nearly knocked me to my knees. My grandparents didn’t include dashes on their stone. Instead, their birth and death dates appear in an open book.
How could I have missed this? An open book—yes, that’s it. Life is an open book and not a dash. Life’s opportunities are endless and not constrained by an etched dash. It was all becoming evident to me. I was thinking that life was just about filling the gap between the two dates—making sure that my life had meaning between 1972 and whatever my death date will be. But really, I shouldn’t be thinking about things in terms of just filling the gap.
As I headed back to my VW, a cool breeze blew past me and it was then that I knew I never had to worry about “my dash.” What I needed to focus on was the open book of life. Yes, that was it. Just as Grandma and Grandpa’s dates were etched on the pages of an open book, so will mine be someday. But until that time, my life is an open book full of endless opportunities waiting for me to discover. There is no dash constraining my life. It is up to me to decide if my life will have the impact of just one lonely page or fill up many pages.
And I got my sights set on a very large autobiography.