Living, Dying and the Taste of a Good Felafel

It’s funny how we’ve come, almost every time we experience something especially delicious, to call it “something to die for.”

When, all along, what we really mean is that it’s something to “live for.” Yes/no?

I wonder why we don’t talk as much about the extraordinary goodness of living. Would we or anybody else in their comparatively right mind honestly extoll the joy of dying for something? For anything?

Seems to me that hardly anyone says anything good about life, nowadays.

Take love for example. Me, I’d definitely rather be talking about living for love than dying for it. Though that’s really what most of us do, talk about dying for love. “Always love me/ Please take my control/ I am dying for your love.” proclaim, nay, beg lyricists Dawn Michele Lott, Glenn Drennen, Jasen Rauch, Justin Cox, Rob Graves, and Wendy Drennen.

In fact, me, personally, I’d rather be living for just about any thing that made me want to live more deeply, more completely. Even a felafel.

It’s gotten so that it’s almost funnier to say: “wow, that was worth living for!”

“Worth living for.” I like that expression. “It is to live for.” I like that too.

I think what thinking about dying (and dying in general) does for you is emphasize how much better living turns out to be. For any reason. Though by the time it becomes clear enough, it’s usually when it’s too late to do anything about it.

“I’m living to taste their new felafel!” on the other hand, already seems a little weird.

And then again, it’s pretty amazing what a good felafel can do for one’s general outlook on life and the living of it.


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