The Half-Life of a Moon

A parable on choice, humanity, and healing.

I could die right now. I wonder how many people get close to death each day, like I am at this very moment, and choose to live. Like, it’s literally a choice.

As I stare out at Mount St. Helens in front of me, and Mount Hood to the right…both cast in the most beautiful shadows from the approaching sunset …they also haunt me. Just as they could blow any minute, so could I.

Humans are so weak, yet so powerful. We are all mini volcanoes, aren’t we? Quite unpredictable.

But yes — I am on the top of a building right now in Portland, feeling so grateful to be alive. And the first string of thoughts that comes right after that is: How would I feel if I jumped off this building right now? How long would it take to reach the ground? Would God take me before I hit it? Is the afterlife real? How does it feel to fly?

The way humans think, man. It’s like joy isn’t allowed for too long. God forbid I’m having a good day, let alone a good year. It’s all about when the other shoe will drop.

You see, I had a childhood that reflected that same thought process. I never could enjoy myself because something scary was always around the corner. Even now, something scary could be around the corner, but the difference is that I get to choose my perspective with my developed adult consciousness. Yay.

I think in these moments, where our past haunts us like a ghost whose name we don’t yet know, we are faced with a choice. We either cower back to the little child we once were, who needed to survive, who needed to expect the shoe to drop because they couldn’t stand the unknown. Whom never felt not safe.

Or we stand upon a shaky foundation of faith and build it brick by brick with each new thought. We remember that we are safe now, that we are free, that we have worked hard to get where we are, and that it’s time to stop letting those old thoughts steal our joy.

We don’t have to feel bad when our past calls out to us. We are not being tested. We are, like plants, growing into new soil and breaking through an old environment we have been steeped in for decades. With that comes tension, comes stress — but it is all par for the course. When it comes up, that means it is coming out. Our job is to ignore it, or simply laugh at it as it seeps out of us, and keep our eyes on the horizon. To know we are growing, and are not yet stable in our new environments. This is our body and mind getting used to something new.

We have to help ourselves along by thinking new thoughts. Thoughts like: I do deserve to be happy. I deserve a life of whimsicality and joy. I deserve to buy a $17 crepe at a café and a $120 backpack because it makes me happy.

We are here to live, after all, aren’t we?

Paper Moon Photographs, ca. 1910–1935 — The Portland Art Museum

Paper Moon Photographs were popular mementos available for purchase at carnivals or state fairs at the turn of the twentieth century. They were often printed as post cards.

My eyes always go straight to this girl, standing behind the moon, touching its nose. I feel like her sometimes…like I’m standing behind the moon, in another world, observing my life.

And just as the moon can’t smell because its nostrils are plugged by some little girl, I can’t sense the totality of life. I can’t feel the gusto some others feel, because I, too, am plugged up by some little girl.

Myself.

Written by: Dana Kippel