Celebrating a birthday with the thought of death

It's my birthday and I will die if I want to.

Lately, when I encounter yet another birthday careening my way, I try to spend it pretending that it is my last day on earth. This week it arrives, and I will once again immerse myself in this task. You may see this as some macabre indulgence, but I see it as a gift to myself.

Let me explain.

Inspired by the book "One Year Left to Live" by Stephen Levine, I came up with this exercise as a way of rooting myself firmly in the experience of the day, instead of getting lost in the past and its many memories and regrets, or flying off into an unknown and uncertain future.

What would this day be like, how would it be different if it were my last day on earth? First off, I won't misspend any of the time I have left looking in the mirror. Besides, this reflection is not how I will be remembered after the last day is done. I will be remembered, if at all, for the interactions I have had with my fellow brothers and sisters, the random acts of kindness that I may have inadvertently handed out to them, the moments I have taken to actually listen to and see who they really are.

Sitting in judgment of others is a waste of time, and I have none to waste. Even though many of my fellow humans can seem a bit odd to me, instead of engaging in vain judgments about them, I would rather spend my energy trying to understand the uniquely beautiful way each of them is trying to make himself or herself known to the world. Diversity is a wonderful thing, good for our ecology and our society.

And because I am acutely aware time is on the lam, I will spend it with people I respect and who are respectful to those I respect. I will avoid those who are arrogant in disregard of the culture within which they live, those who misuse the power and position they have acquired. I will spend my last day in conversation only with those who are curious about life, themselves and others; I will avoid those who cloak themselves in dogma, only preaching what is familiar and self-serving.

What I will do is pay attention to the light, how it dances around me, casting shadows, illuminating moments and things I might not otherwise have noticed. I will observe how saturated with color this world is. I will devote time to touching the person I love. And yes, I will stop to smell the roses. After all, it is through our five senses -- and the feelings they evoke -- that we are able to participate in the rare adventure that is life.

These are great intentions. But knowing well my own flawed humanity, I most likely will not live up to my best attentions. On this last day I hope I can gift myself with the greatest gift of all: forgiveness.

My father was a man who would have understood this little birthday exercise, although he would wonder why I had to make such a task out of it. Whenever I gather with my siblings, we never fail to celebrate what we all recall as his most memorable quote. In almost every experience he had, whether it was a simple breakfast, a family Fourth of July celebration on the farm or a day at the Kentucky Derby, he would sincerely claim: "This is just the best ever!"

That is how I want to feel about my last day on this earth, how I want to live every day I may have left after that.

Dr. Michael O.L. Seabaugh, a Cape Girardeau native, is a clinical psychologist who lives and works in Santa Barbara, Calif. Contact him at mseabaugh@semissourian.com For more on the topics covered in Healthspan, visit his Web site: www.HealthspanWeb.com.