<story><title>I just learned I only have months to live. This is what I want to say</title><url>https://www.bostonglobe.com/2021/07/21/magazine/i-just-learned-i-only-have-months-live-this-is-what-i-want-say/</url></story><parent_chain></parent_chain><comment><author>BigHatLogan</author><text>That was quite nice. The writer seems to be in relative peace about the whole situation, or at least as peaceful as one can be knowing that the end is near.&lt;p&gt;Unrelated but related: How do we keep stories like this in the &amp;quot;middle&amp;quot; of our minds? I&amp;#x27;ve noticed with myself--and many others--that we read articles and essays like this, contemplate them for a moment or two, think about how we should be more {appreciate, grateful, thankful} for what we have, but then--inevitably--somebody cuts you off in traffic, or the plumber is late, or your coworker does something annoying, and just like that, everything comes flooding in.&lt;p&gt;Is this just human nature (or my own nature)? While reading this essay, I became much less frustrated about a delayed shipment I&amp;#x27;m waiting for, and thought to myself, &amp;quot;ah what the hell! It&amp;#x27;s just a small package! Life is too short to get worked up about things like this.&amp;quot; But I know that tomorrow morning I won&amp;#x27;t feel that way.&lt;p&gt;Anyways, I&amp;#x27;m rambling. It would be helpful to somehow keep these things somewhere in our minds for longer periods of time--not the forefront because we need to get on with things, but probably not the dark recesses either, where we&amp;#x27;ll inevitably forget them until we come across another one in a few months.</text></comment>
<story><title>I just learned I only have months to live. This is what I want to say</title><url>https://www.bostonglobe.com/2021/07/21/magazine/i-just-learned-i-only-have-months-live-this-is-what-i-want-say/</url></story><parent_chain></parent_chain><comment><author>djohnston</author><text>&amp;quot;EDITING THE FINAL DETAILS of one’s life is like editing a story for the final time. It’s the last shot an editor has at making corrections, the last rewrite before the roll of the presses. It’s more painful than I anticipated to throw away files and paperwork that seemed critical to my survival just two weeks ago, and today, are all trash. Like the manual for the TV that broke down four years ago, and notebooks for stories that will never be written, and from former girlfriends, letters whose value will plummet the day I die. Filling wastebasket after wastebasket is a regrettable reminder that I have squandered much of my life on trivia.&amp;quot;&lt;p&gt;Hits pretty hard.</text></comment>