"There’s no way of knowing your last good day is your Last Good Day." Unless of course you do.
When we write about pain we write about joy.
First things first: we missed a couple newsletters because I gave myself a vacation (I was so in need of this time off that I didn’t have time to write newsletters in advance). You probably didn’t notice, but if you did—thank you for your patience. I was in Italy to do a talk about the mental health benefits of storytelling for healthcare professionals and then I took some time off to head North to Lake Como to deliver a copy of What Looks Like Bravery to the Rockefeller Foundation where I had the gift of a writing residency in 2017…and also where I had a magnificent day that I wrote about in the book. It was the kind of day in which no one was dying (at least not quickly)— involving a sexy speed boat, the best lunch I’ve ever eaten, the realization that I was falling in love, and also laughing so hard we could barely breathe. It was definitely a Last Good Day and usually we don’t realize when those are happening. Usually we only recognize them in hindsight. But on this day, I knew it. And it was so good it hurt.
“The problem, of course, is that there’s no way of knowing that your last good day is your Last Good Day. At the time, it is just another good day.”
John Green, A Fault in Our Stars
These prompts are meant to inspire you— not limit or intimidate you. To that end, put your phone in airplane mode if you can and set a timer for 7 minutes. You can always write (or think) for longer if you so choose, but I find 7 minutes to be kind of magical. Second, tell yourself that you are already excellent, perfect even—if only for 7 minutes (you have the rest of your life to criticize yourself). Third, whenever you get stuck, choose a sensation to describe (a taste, sound, sight, smell, noise, etc). Let me know how it goes! If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments section or on Instagram by tagging @laurel_braitman.
Describe one of your own last good days. One you either did or did not know was happening at the time. Where were you? Who were you with? What were you doing? It may be mundane and that is just fine. Take us into the scene and try to write it in present tense. (Eg. “We are sitting in a patch of sunlight by the window…”)
You are given a chance to relive one day in your life over again that you perhaps didn’t appreciate at the time. You can make one decision differently than you did when you lived this day the first time. Would you change anything or choose to relive the day exactly as it was? Take us into this day with you. Start with opening your eyes.
If you’d like, you can post your response(s) in the comments section or on Instagram by tagging @laurel_braitman and I’ll find them and respond!
A marvelous thing that happened when I was traveling is that I got a message from Dr. Bonnie Chen, author of this heart-wrenching piece in the SF Chronicle about the death of her son and her own grief but written as a letter to her own past and future patients. I am always shook by good writing around loss and I think it’s especially brave and important for physicians and other healthcare professionals to share about their own grief. It is an act of courage that humanizes all of us.
The writer Sara Peterson wrote “Some Truths About Writing a Book” that might be the truest thing about book writing and publishing I’ve ever read. If this is your dream too, please go read this immediately.
I joined Tiktok reluctantly and now I’m spending way too much time there, but gems like this video make it worth it. What happens when the AuADHD fairies age out of the manic pixie dream girl phase? Watch to find out.
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On June 28th, I will be leading a low-cost virtual writing workshop that’s open to everyone called Writing Bravely. We will spend an hour writing together and I will share best practices for being a more vulnerable and authentic voice on the page. Also a few thoughts on where you might submit your work.
I will be a keynote speaker at the Missouri Hospital Association Leadership Forum in Missouri and the Maine Hospital Association Summer Forum this week. Next month I will be speaking at the Chautauqua Institute in partnership with Interfaith America. Come say hi!
You can find out more information and how to attend on my events page.
Yours, till next time,
Laurel
Here is a poem I wrote using the prompts.... thanks... Matt Mumber
What if today is the last good day--
this one, right here, right now?
What if joint pains become unbearable,
the cluster headaches never cease?
What if the cancer returns, a rogue cell escapes the chemo,
lives on and spreads, sets up shop in the lung or liver?
What if my heart stops beating after years of neglect?
How will I spend this one glorious set of moments,
tucked neatly inside a precious 24 hours?
I could touch the morning’s moist grass with bare feet
and let the raindrops soak through my white undershirt.
I could lean into the quick tongue kisses from the stray
who just appeared on our porch.
I could eat peaches whole and let the sticky juice flow down my unshaven chin.
I could touch my beloved before leaving home, a little longer hug,
an extra, lingering kiss.
I could notice the oak trees sway,
some leaves dance, others remain still.
In each eye that I meet, I could welcome my own eye,
with each voice, I could acknowledge the shared air.
Each leaf of lettuce contains dust from the whole cosmos,
each sip of water – a pregnant cloud.
When the darkness arrives, I could lie on the fresh cut lawn,
point a flashlight toward the sky’s first star,
flick it on and off
and whisper-- thank you, thank you, thank you.
This tiktok. I am crying.