Happy New Life.
As I find myself in the darkest season of the year, I've spent my holiday reading a bestselling book where someone interviewed people in their final stages of life. It might sound rather counterproductive, but I've concluded that it's better to simply embrace all the darkness in the world. If it were a film scene, it's as if I suddenly stop trying to run from the raging grizzly bear in the forest. Instead, I turn around and walk towards it with open arms. The book elegantly captures my own feelings of hopelessness, until it summarises what people regret most on their deathbed. Then it suddenly doesn't feel quite as relevant anymore.
I wish I'd had the courage to live life on my own terms rather than meeting others' expectations.
I should have worked less.
I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.
I wish I'd stayed in touch with my friends.
I wish I'd allowed myself to be happier.
To me, it's obvious that these points of elevated insight come from a generation raised on self-help books and inspirational fridge magnets with uplifting messages like: "Life doesn't offer reruns", "Seize the day", "Today is the first day of the rest of your life", "You only regret the things you didn't do" and so forth.
So I amused myself by visiting a hospice here in Stockholm during the days between Christmas and New Year's, holding the hands of complete strangers on their deathbeds. Disguised in a Dolly Parton wig, Crocs and a very short hospital gown, I probably looked like a lost drag queen, but no one seemed to react when I sat down. With my head tilted and a sympathetic smile, I patted their hands, determined to get more truthful statements.
-You can let go of all those life-affirming platitudes now. Just tell it like it is, I whispered with my notebook in my lap. Those who could open their eyes did so, and perhaps they mistook me for God. Or alternatively, the Devil - it's hard to tell.
Either way, I got what I suspected: a more credible list of points.
I regret not going to a proper doctor straight away, instead of letting some shaman from Sundbyberg try to cure my aggressive cancer.
I regret not shagging around more when I had the chance.
I should have worn a face mask when I demolished that asbestos villa.
I should never have given that lottery ticket as a Christmas present to a colleague who then became financially independent.
I shouldn't have gone clubbing in Berlin and tried smoking heroin, only to wake up in a hotel bed with a garden gnome lodged firmly up my backside.
Perhaps these aren't the sort of life lessons you'd print on coffee mugs, pillowcases, or get tattooed, but I reckon this honesty might serve as liberating guiding stars for all of us heading into this rubbish new year.
Happy New Year to you all!