Driving, hiking and camping in enormous, desolate deserts causes (or allows?) unorthodox things to transpire.
Witness this pinball cascade of thoughts: A friend was recently diagnosed with a psychological illness, and her relationship ended because of it.
Which got me thinking about the nature of disease and communion with others. Why is it that mental illness (usually) affects partners in ways that are more unbearable than physical illness? Couples do not (usually) break up if cancer is diagnosed. Before I go too far down that rabbit hole, this is not intended as a psycho-sociological discourse. It's a means to an end, apparently.
Which got me thinking about what I would do if diagnosed. Why do humans seek treatment, except for the avoidance of pain to self and others? We all have to die of something, sometime. Why and to what are we so attached? Why not just live with heightened awareness and call it a day. Would I be like Nora Ephron and not tell anyone of my disease? Or more like Christopher Hitchens? Or...
Which got me thinking what would I do if given three years to live? Why three? Well, one seems too dramatic; I'm not (at present) fearless enough to live as if I only had one year left. Five years seems too long to maintain this presence of mind and 'experiment' in living. Two is too 'even.' Three seemed 'odd" enough.
Who knows what will happen filtering decisions through this matrix.