Lately I’ve enjoyed a variety of novels cast in some future in which the government uses statistics and the higher good of the masses to govern.  Each book maintains that catastrophes brought these supportive measures on, resources are few and self-accountability is through the roof.  We get to experience with the protagonist her blooming sense of self and human rights which fuel and protect her as she leads and achieves needed changes.

Some of the novels are better than others but I am finding they all have in common an expectation for their characters and readers.

We must know why we are worth preserving.

Why am I deserving of sharing space, air, water, life-sustaining resources and free-choice?  Why not keep those for my betters; for people with fewer diseases, more to offer and less to take.  Ouch.

In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Spock famously poisons himself while saving his ship and friends.

Spock: Don’t grieve, Admiral. It is logical. The needs of the many outweigh…
Kirk: …the needs of the few…
Spock: …Or the one.

We can’t help but ask ourselves, “Why am I worth keeping alive?”

Isn’t that question an interesting irony for those of us who suffer with morbid thoughts?  Those of us, who struggle with diseases that cause us to want death, might use this as a tool to hijack that suicidal thought into fighting to live because…

Even if we are not in that group of people who have or do or will fantasize about the “what ifs,” I can still think of a few good reasons to spend some time in the space of what is worth preserving about us.

Spock: I have been and always shall be your friend.

Question:  Why are you worth keeping alive?  Please tell us your story.

Self-Care Tip – Do not go gently into death.

Dylan Thomas wrote:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, 
Because their words had forked no lightning they 
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright 
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, 
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, 
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight 
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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