Who shows up at the end?

About this Video:
I've been thinking about an uncomfortable question: who would actually show up at my deathbed? Not who I could invite in theory, but who would genuinely drop everything and come sit with me.

In this video, I admit that my own list is shorter than I'd like. I've spent much of my life being the person who initiates friendships, and I've slowly let some relationships disappear simply because I was busy, afraid to reach out, or convinced someone didn't want to hear from me.

But I've realized something important. You can't decide at the deathbed whether you'll be connected or alone. That room is built years earlier, on ordinary Tuesdays, through small acts of showing up.

I share what I'm doing to change that now, and why I'm learning that when it comes to relationships, the second-best time to plant the tree is today.


Transcript:
I did an uncomfortable exercise on myself the other day.

I tried to name who would actually show up at my deathbed. Not who I'd invite in theory, who would genuinely drop everything and come sit with me.

The list was shorter than I wanted, and here's the part that stung.

It wasn't short because people are unkind.

It was short because a list like that isn't made at the end.

It's built over decades on ordinary Tuesdays, and I've done a poor job of building mine.

Let me tell you how.

Here's how it actually happens.

It's not dramatic. It's almost boring.

I think about calling an old friend. There's a little warm pull toward it, and then the second thought shows up.

It says, "They probably don't want to hear from me. It's been way too long."

Then a third thought, sneakier. It says, "This call will take real time, thirty minutes, maybe an hour."

And I look at my day. I look at what's left of it.

The day wins. It always wins.

I go do something else.

Fear, then time, then escape.

I've run that loop a thousand times, and every time one more Tuesday goes untended

Now here's something I've only recently admitted.

I've been the initiator my whole life.

If I want a friendship, I'm the one who starts it.

I make the call. I suggest a coffee.

I try to remember the last time someone reached out to me first just because they wanted to see me.

I came up nearly empty.

One neighbor asked me to get coffee. That's the recent list.

You know, I'm a little tired of always being the one who reaches, and I'm a little scared of reaching and finding nobody reaches back.

So I stop reaching, and the silence I'm afraid of, I built it myself

I've been thinking a lot about how I wanna die.

That's not morbid to me.

I wanna control my own exit as much as a person can.

After I'm gone, the rest belongs to my wife and my kids.

I'm at peace with that, but here's the tension that keeps catching me.

I can control how I die.

What I can't control is whether I die connected or alone.

That one isn't decided on the deathbed.

It's decided now.

You can plan a good death down to the details.

You cannot plan a full room.

A full room is grown slowly, years in advance.

I don't want a party.

I want a few good friends.

People I've had real conversations with about life, about what comes after, about how to live while we still can.

Right now, I'm not on track to have that room

You know, there's an old line:

The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago, and the second best time is today.

Relationships are the same.

They're gardens.

You till, you water, you show up when nothing's blooming.

You do it for years with no payoff, and then right when you need it, the garden feeds you.

The cruel part is the lag.

The work is now.

The reward is much later.

The whole thing runs on faith.

And a garden you ignore doesn't stay frozen.

It goes to weeds quietly.

No dramatic moment.

That's how I lost touch with people.

Not in a fight.

In a slow, weedy silence I never chose out loud.

Years ago, I got to ask Bill Walton one question.

I asked what the best Grateful Dead show he ever saw was.

You know, he looked at me like I had three heads, and I was really embarrassed.

Then he said, "The next one."

I felt like a fool, but that answer stuck with me.

Why look back when you can look forward?

So I'm applying it here.

I can't un-lose the friendships I let go weedy, but the next one is open ground.

The next connection is one I get to plant on purpose.

So here's what I'm going to do.

The cold call to an old friend is the hardest possible first move, so I'm not starting there.

This week I'm looking into continuing ed at UVM.

They mix seniors and students.

Shared rooms, shared subjects.

The friendships can grow out of the activity, so I don't have to manufacture it.

To me, that feels doable, and doable beats heroic every time.

You know, if you recognize yourself in any of this, take the honest look I took.

Ask who'd really show up for you.

If the list is thin, don't panic.

It's not finished.

It's still being written by what you do next.

The second best time to plant is today.

It's always today.

Will I pick up the phone?

Honestly, I don't know.

But the next one is the reach I actually make.

So let me go make it.

Hey, this is Josh Patrick.

Thanks for watching.

I'll see you here next week.