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Why You Should Write Your Own Obituary
It was a pastime of my mom’s and mine during the pandemic. After I quit my desk job and left my roommates and my downtown apartment to try to find some respite in my parents’ comfortable suburban spaciousness, the Sunday morning breakfast of my childhood resumed: Mom’s scrambled eggs; Dad’s filtered coffee (this time, I was old enough to partake), and the newspaper, distributed among us, section by section.
Back in the day, my dad and brother would browse flyers from Best Buy and the now defunct Computer World. My sister and I would take turns reading the comics, arguing over who got the first look. And my mom, poised and elegant at the head of the table, would read the obituaries.
It was a curiosity I couldn’t understand. Lo, some 10-odd years later, bored and listless as I found myself back at my parents’ dining room table while my friends bought houses and adopted dogs with their partners, I too found myself reaching for the weekly obituaries.
Soon, my mom and I fell into a rhythm, taking turns poring over the columns, eagerly pointing out those we found most interesting. Rather than depressing me, these micro biographies of unknown local characters inspired me and made me wonder about what small but mighty feats I could pursue in my own life. Long a fan of reading biographies of celebrated public figures, I was fascinated by these small-scale accounts of everyday Jane and Joe Does. Seeing their stories down on paper made me realize I’d been writing my own obituary in my head on and off for years, musing about what I want to do in life, where I want to go, and — in a world where others one day might read my story — how I would like to be remembered.
I’ve since lost the habit over the years, but as I near 30 and resume contemplation about my place in this world and what I’m even supposed to be doing here, I’ve found writing my own obituary quite a soothing, dare I say, invigorating process. This is what it’s done for me:
Made me really think about what I’m doing
Life is short, and my late grandfather was right: The older we get, the faster time seems to move. As the days, months, and years whizz by, it’s easy to lose sight of what we’re even doing with all that time. Are we working towards a goal that fulfills us? Are we losing too many hours (and too much peace and sanity) to social media scrolling? Are we prioritizing time with those we cherish?
Time is probably the most precious commodity, and, like money, we don’t all have the same stock available in the coffers. Responsibilities take over our calendars, and we unknowingly fall in the work-eat-relax-resume cycle, losing entire weekends to recovery and evenings to digital numbing treatments.
Writing my own obituary now and again helps me see where all that time is going. It lets me step back and appreciate where I’ve been, what I’ve learned, and how I’ve grown. More importantly, it lets me look ahead to where I want to go next and what I can do now to make that vision real.
Consider the small acts that can make a big difference
Allow me to summarize a box story from season 6, episode 7 of the TV show, Grace & Frankie:
Robert is invited to attend the funeral of a former navy compatriot, one he barely remembers. The deceased’s family wants to honor Robert at the wake, causing him to believe they have mistaken him for the man who saved the deceased from a forsaken ship years ago. When he confesses to the widow that he was not the rescuer, she says she knows and explains to Robert how he unknowingly touched their lives: Years prior, the deceased had forgotten to polish his shoes, putting him at risk of losing his right to go off base for the weekend. Always fastidious, Robert couldn’t help but polish the deceased’s shoes for him, saving his liberty for the weekend. It was then that the deceased met his future wife. As the widow says to Robert at the wake, her husband used to tell their kids that story all the time: “You taught us how far a little kindness can go.”
Both Robert and I, the viewer, were moved to tears. While this is only a fictional account, it reminds me of the untold cinematic stories hidden in daily life. Each of us has the power to, even unknowingly, dramatically impact someone else’s path. When I write my own obituary and reflect on all the people who have shaped me — often in ways they don’t realize — I can’t help but wonder whose path I may have touched and how I can live a life that leaves positive ripples in its wake.
Appreciate that my job is not my identity
For some people, this is really the case. Their job is both hobby and source of income, a personal calling as much as it is a way to pay the bills. But most people, I’d venture, don’t fall into this category. And there is nothing wrong with that, because your job does not define who you are.
It was reading obituaries that helped me appreciate this reality. When I read highlights of strangers’ local charity work, their gardening endeavors, their sailboat-in-a-bottle collections, their athletic feats, and all manner of recreational pursuits, my eyes widened to the possibilities that lie beyond the scope of work. There are, in fact, many other ways to think about ourselves other than “writer” or “project manager” or “electrician.”
Yes, these titles are often how we introduce ourselves to others, and fulfilling all their duties can consume a considerable amount of our time, but they do not have to be all we are. When I stop to imagine my own obituary and what impressions I’d like to leave behind, it’s never one where I devoted my entire essence and energy to corporate emails and Slack exchanges. There are too many other beautiful things to do in my life. This practice reminds me to prioritize them.
Try it: Take stock of who you are, for now
The self is an ever-changing force. To keep it moving in the direction you want it to, it helps to pause every now and then and take stock of where you’ve been and where you are. What comes next is always yours to decide.
Here’s mine, for now:
Meredith Shubel, December 4, 1996—
Meredith Shubel was born in Rhode Island to an engineer father and a nurse mother, joining an older sister and brother. During childhood, her greatest pastimes were reading and writing, often found on the floor next to the dog she so begged her parents for, reading aloud to him. In high school, she was captain of the junior varsity field hockey team, editor of the yearbook, and secretary of the student honor council. Later, she attended the University of Rhode Island, from where she graduated with a triple major in writing & rhetoric, communication studies, and French. In her junior year, she spent a semester studying in Rennes, France, where she met the man who would one day become her husband. She worked consistently throughout university — in a bakery, as a tutor, as a teaching assistant, as a writing intern at a marketing agency and then at a public relations agency, where she worked full time after graduating. Initially, she turned down the job offer, so intent was she on moving across the country to Seattle or Colorado and starting a brand-new life for herself. With resigned practicality, she accepted the company’s second offer and moved to the state capital, where she rented a downtown apartment with three random roommates from Craig’s List. Meredith remembers this time as one of her happiest, traveling often and spending many nights out gallivanting with friends. After a year, however, she grew restless and formed the idea to return to France to pursue a master’s degree. It was at this time she began a romance with her now-husband. When the COVID-19 pandemic struck, she moved (temporarily, she thought) back to her parents’ to work remotely before moving to Marseille, where she was accepted at the university to study literature. Due to pandemic restrictions, she would stay with her parents for over a year, eventually quitting her desk job to work as a barista in a local café, creating what would turn out to be another one of the most beautiful years of her life. In September 2021, she moved to Toulouse, France, where she moved in with her now-husband and took intensive French classes. A year later, she enrolled in a master’s program in creative writing at l’Université Toulouse – Jean Jaurès and got married. Two years after that, she completed her degree, moved to Paris, and began working full time as a freelance writer. To be continued.
I’ve always loved turning to others’ stories for inspiration for my own. It assures me that we can always get through a difficult time, no matter how troubling. And of course, reading obituaries is a poignant reminder that life passes quickly and we shouldn’t waste the days waiting to be happy.
Continue reading with a few memoirs to remind you of what’s possible in life.
Then, why not try writing your own life story?
P.S. Besides the local obituaries, there are other reasons why it’s worth reading the newspaper again.
Hello, I’m Merry.
I’m an American-raised, Paris-based writer. By day, I work as a technical ghostwriter. Here, I get to write about whatever I want. I call it “A Merry Loner” because I believe that once you can be happy on your own, you can do anything.
I send an email whenever I publish something new. That’s all.
If you think someone would like this post, send it to them. (It would really mean a lot to me.)
Readers’ Favorites
Learnings from Five Years Living in a Different Country
How to Put Yourself Out There
Why It’s Worth Reading the Newspaper Again
How to Get Through a Difficult Time
How to Stop Waiting to Be Happy
My Bookshelf
a running list of (nearly) every book I’ve read since 2016
Index
Archive
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How to Make a Lonely Place a Home
For some people, home is a constant, a building they’ve lived in for many years or a neighborhood whose back passages they know by heart. For others, home may be more of an idea they carry with them from house to house, town to town, perhaps even country to country.
Either way, it can feel lonely at times.
Even when your family lives close by, your barista knows your name, and long-time friends are regular dinner companions, we can still feel like we’re on our own. Maybe those dinners with friends are most often a circle of couples, around whom you feel like the dowdy tagalong. Or the physical closeness of family doesn’t translate to the emotional one you want. Or the romance you once thought radiated from the life of a rolling stone is more often a gnawing loneliness that reliably finds you come nightfall.
We rarely suspect others can be as lonely as we; they have full lives with large rosters of friends and social engagements. But even the most flirtatious social butterfly with the most intricate social tapestry knows what it’s like to feel isolated, stagnant, and left out.
Whether you’re trying to start over somewhere new or you’ve hit a wall where you are, I find we can make a lonely place feel like home by creating our own sense of belonging, rather than waiting for it to find us. Here’s how:
Internal belonging: Remember you are not your surroundings
It’s easy to forget. We have a tendency to mirror what we see around us, from the fashion to the lingo to the way we step on and off the metro. When we don’t feel at ease in our surroundings — be they new or long-standing — we can be quick to assume it’s our fault.
We are not like the others here; therefore, we are strange. We haven’t made any new friends recently or found a committed partner, so we must be intolerable. We don’t have any plans for the weekend; we do not have a place here.
But the truth is, we can have a place everywhere. We just have to make it for ourselves. In my Learnings from Five Years Living in a Different Country, I wrote about how living abroad, at first, made me question who I am, subconsciously altering my speaking voice, posture, and manner of dress. Eventually, I realized the person responsible for my awkwardness, my self-doubt, and my hesitance wasn’t the strangeness of my surroundings or the perceived aloofness of my peers; it was me. I had forgotten that I get to decide who I am and how I want to be and whether or not I feel like I belong — and that none of those things are dependent on my physical surroundings.
If you’re feeling lonely where you are now, remember that you need neither acceptance nor a savior to validate your identity and buoy your spirits. You can do that for yourself, for if you once had the power to be lively and bouncy and energetic, then that power is still within you, no matter where you are.
Social belonging: Invite people over
Of course, the fastest way to not feel lonely is to put yourself around other people. Sure, there is that old terror of feeling lonely in a crowded room, but when the room is your own and the guests are chosen by you, the odds of that terror taking shape drastically dwindle.
And it needn’t be a big party to merit an invitation. Why not invite an acquaintance over for tea? Or a few friends for a Sunday brunch? If cooking isn’t your strong suit, how about a potluck? Or simply wine and cheese?
It feels quite daunting, these days, to invite others into our homes. (In fact, The New York Times claimed the party died over 10 years ago.) And, yes, it can take a little courage to put yourself out there, reach out first, and initiate plans. That’s why I believe it takes a bit of a loner spirit to make new friends; when you’re confident and comfortable in your own company, it’s easier to make the first move and be the one who proposes new ideas.
My husband and I frequently host dinners and soirées, once even an extravagant, multi-course Easter brunch (with my husband’s culinary skills, not mine). These conversations around the table, on the floor, and away in far-off corners when two people really hit it off, are what have made our small apartments and used furniture feel like a banquet hall and what have turned light acquaintanceships into years-long friendships. They’re what have made what could have been lonely cities our homes.
Physical belonging: Prioritize beauty, whatever that means for you
In these tiny apartments, fraught with used furniture, leaky pipes, cheap IKEA wares, and even the occasional mouse, I stave off the listlessness, melancholy, and loneliness that hit us all at one point or another by making beauty a priority.
For me, that looks like postcards, paintings, and guitars scattered on the walls, mismatched teacups, an overflowing bookshelf, and dried flowers that stay with me even when the living have lost the good fight. For you, that may look like a wall of CDs, a painting drying on an easel, or a shelf alive with houseplants. Though we are not our surroundings, I would be remiss to say our living quarters don’t influence our mood. By letting our personalities leave a tangible mark, we can stake claim to what feels like an unwelcome, damp place and assert with color, texture, and shine: “I belong here.”
If you’re struggling with an uncooperative housemate, a difficult family member, or an otherwise less-than-ideal living situation that’s got you feeling powerless and alone, consider what corners you can reclaim for yourself, however you wish.
Your home is wherever you feel like yourself
I believe we feel the most lonely, not when we’re without friends, but when we’re without ourselves. That is, when we don’t have the internal peace and confidence to enjoy our own company.
When we don’t feel comfortable doing things alone, every place feels like a lonely place. But when we remind ourselves that we can belong anywhere, we are always capable of forming new relationships, and we have the right to live beautifully, we can stop waiting to be happy and start feeling at home, no matter where we go.
Read how to get through a difficult time for more ideas on how to find agency in your own life. These poems about new beginnings give a more artful take.
From guest writers, Isabel Ravenna shares her perspective on why living alone doesn’t have to be lonely, and Gavin Williams tells his story about moving to a new city in his thirties and feeling lonely in his “prime.”
Hello, I’m Merry.
I’m an American-raised, Paris-based writer. By day, I work as a technical ghostwriter. Here, I get to write about whatever I want. I call it “A Merry Loner” because I believe that once you can be happy on your own, you can do anything.
I send an email whenever I publish something new. That’s all.
If you think someone would like this post, send it to them. (It would really mean a lot to me.)
Readers’ Favorites
Learnings from Five Years Living in a Different Country
How to Put Yourself Out There
Why It’s Worth Reading the Newspaper Again
How to Get Through a Difficult Time
How to Stop Waiting to Be Happy
My Bookshelf
a running list of (nearly) every book I’ve read since 2016
Index
Archive
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How to Stop Waiting to Be Happy
I love playing the long game. It’s kind of my thing. And it’s generally really worked out for me.
I didn’t go to the liberal arts college of my dreams because I didn’t want to take on tens of thousands of dollars in debt, which meant years later, I could quit my desk job, emotionally recharge with a yearlong stint as a barista, and then pick up and move to France to pursue a more creative life because I didn’t have rude debt repayments tapping me on the shoulder every month.
But sometimes, I play the long game too hard, always working for what’s to come and how great things will be when I get there instead of focusing on where I am now.
Yes, I have my moments of being present. On a recent train trip home to Paris, for example, I marveled at the luxury of enjoying a cappuccino while reading in a near-empty restaurant car with a green landscape whizzing past me. But these moments, I admit, can be rather fleeting. Then I’m back to making my to-do lists, thinking about what lies ahead in the next weeks, or just daydreaming about where I’ll be a year from now, even though I spent all this effort to get where I am right now.
I am Sisyphus and, at once, Zeus, creating my own boulders to push up the hill.
Living like this does have its advantages. I credit my meager repertoire of academic and professional accomplishments to long-term thinking and planning ahead. But it’s not always fun. And it’s possibly holding me back in other ways I don’t always realize, like thinking happiness is something I have to work towards and achieve instead of letting myself feel right now.
I’m working on it, though. Like this:
Making time to do the things I want to do now, not later
I’ve been working as a professional writer for the last 10 years. I’ve wanted to write a blog for the last 10 years, too. I didn’t. I was always too busy, or I didn’t have the right ideas, or I was too nervous to put myself out there.
I didn’t start this blog until two years ago; and it was not joyful. As always, I was thinking too far ahead, about anything but writing, really. I wanted an intricate website, a roster of guest writers I commissioned, and an elaborate social media presence. I had turned an interest into a task, and (unsurprisingly) it sucked all the fun out of it.
So in the last few months, I’ve forced myself to stop thinking ahead. I deleted all of A Merry Loner’s social media accounts (there are too many interesting things to do instead of social media, anyway), stripped the website to bare bones, and made myself sit down to write with just a pen, notebook, and what’s going on in my head. Rather than making writing another task that needs to fight for priority on my to-do list, I just started making time for it because I want to.
And who could have predicted that doing things you enjoy makes the days better?
Stopping the search for “it”
You know what “it” is. We all have an “it” (perhaps several), those covetable, cure-all will o’ the wisps that we’re sure would soothe all our ailments (both of the heart and of the mind) if we could just make them ours.
More money, so we’ll have no worries and all the trinkets we desire. More time, to pursue all of our passions. More friends, so we are never lonely. More romance, so we feel unique and cherished. More beauty, so people treat us better and the mirror is an admirer, not an enemy.
These are just some of the bigger and more obvious “its,” but the smaller and more specific can be just as consuming. Even silly, everyday objects (like a new pair of shoes or a perfect notebook) can take on a fateful sense of power. With these shoes, we will look more sophisticated. With that notebook, we will be brilliant.
But the search for “it” merely postpones our happiness, pushing it further and further away. Even when we do obtain “it,” it is just replaced by yet another, more perfect “it.” To stop waiting to be happy, we have to stop waiting on “it” and accept that “it” will never really be enough.
Not looking at what other people are doing
It’s hard to be happy when you think everyone else is better than you. But it’s easy to think that way when you’re constantly looking at the world through rose-colored glasses — at everyone else’s worlds, that is.
Like when you see a beautiful person in line at the coffee shop, wearing clothes you admire but believe you, yourself, could never “pull off.” Or when you hear so-and-so got a raise and a promotion, while you live in fear of the next round of Big Tech lay-offs. Or whenever you wonder how everyone in your circle seems to be constantly traveling and also eating out all the time and also buying new cars and generally spending money that it feels like somehow everyone else has except for you.
It’s not easy to be happy when you’re living like that, which is why my philosophy for learning how to stop waiting to be happy is turning out quite like my philosophy for learning how to stop wanting things: stop looking. Stop looking ahead at what you need to do and where you wish you could be. Stop looking behind at all your mistakes and what you wish you could undo. Stop looking next door at what everyone else is doing and how you do or don’t measure up.
When you stop looking and longing and reaching and waiting, you can suddenly start being. And I’m realizing, it was never really that difficult after all.
I realize happiness isn’t a switch we can just turn on. Sometimes, before we can even think about feeling happy, we need to cross the first bridge of simply getting through a difficult time. Often, reaching out to friends helps, even if you consider yourself an introvert who wants to retreat when the going gets tough. Other times, we need some space to ourselves, even if you consider yourself an extrovert who avoids alone time. This guide offers advice for both.
For everyone, though, there’s one thing I would encourage you to retreat from (at least some of the time): social media. Spending time offline, I find, is one of the best ways to find more quiet in daily life and just feel better.
Here’s how I quit social media. I hope doing so gives you the same peace of mind and extra time it gave me. (Use it to do something that makes you happy right now.)
Hello, I’m Merry.
I’m an American-raised, Paris-based writer. By day, I work as a technical ghostwriter. Here, I get to write about whatever I want. I call it “A Merry Loner” because I believe that once you can be happy on your own, you can do anything.
I send an email whenever I publish something new. That’s all.
If you think someone would like this post, send it to them. (It would really mean a lot to me.)
Readers’ Favorites
Learnings from Five Years Living in a Different Country
How to Put Yourself Out There
Why It’s Worth Reading the Newspaper Again
How to Get Through a Difficult Time
How to Stop Waiting to Be Happy
My Bookshelf
a running list of (nearly) every book I’ve read since 2016
Index
Archive
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