“I don’t care what you do, just don’t get pregnant! That will mess up your life,” he practically shouted, shakily pointing his index finger, inflamed joints, liver spots and all, directly at my abdomen.

Though piece of advice was memorable albeit unsolicited, my Italian neighbor aggressively threw it my way like a fastball ten years ago, in his characteristically ornery way. At the time he was 88 years old and remarkably, he remains one of the few people over sixty, who is not a hopeless anachronism.

More recently, I sat across from him at his thick oak dining table, covered in a distinct patina, for his 98th birthday, which he almost did not reach.

Two weeks ago, he totaled his car in a freeway accident. This implies that yes, he is still on the roads regularly. That he is currently taking vitamin A supplements for vision is beside the point and distracts from the story.

He recounted the play with play with such ease, a perpetual smile on his face, unkempt eyebrows very animated.

“I was about to enter the tunnel. I was on the lane two lanes from the right. No, three lanes from the right. I guessed that I would have three or four feet from the car behind me if he kept moving at the same speed.”

But alas the other driver did not cooperate. He slowed down and thwarted the signor.

“So I slammed into the back of his car. I could see the whole front of the Jetta [his ex-car] crunch up like an accordion. I looked to the passenger seat where Alicia [his 86 or 88 year-old, he’s not quite sure; age is just a number anyway; he’s a modern man), girlfriend] was sitting and said, “well, let’s see what happens.”

He laughed and took a bite of the chess pie I had baked him to celebrate.

Chess pie is a classic Southern dessert with a custardy filling that is decadently rich and sans chocolate, the addition of which to already sweet things can become cloying. There is no better time for change than the present, and after 98 birthdays filled with cake, why not switch things up? For the former engineer, pi(e) seemed like a culinary pun that he would appreciate and that tastes better than the mathematical constant.

The pie was well-paired with a special Taiwanese aged oolong that cut nicely through the richness.

If an automobile accident can’t kill him, bring on those Paula Deen portions (hold the, *cough*, unsurprising racism).

I don’t know if Death was just reminding him of the inevitable, but just like for all of us, you never know when He comes knocking. There is a willful aversion coupled with fear in the West toward thinking about mortality, but the fact is that we have all died many deaths already. Ending a relationship, quitting a job, finishing university are all examples of deaths we undergo.

Physical death is fundamentally the same. It too, is just another change or transition, an inherent part of life, yet we resist it. Knowing it is an innate characteristic of our lives should encourage us to embrace it, but we don’t. Instead we often view change as this far off thing, something to add to the ever-growing to-do list, which we do with dread.

The reality is that that it's not just around the corner. The opportunity for change is in every instant, every moment.

My neighbor wisely assumes he won’t wake up tomorrow.

Each day then, is suffused with great satisfaction. Because he embraces the transitory nature of all things including this beloved life, he can laugh in the face of an automobile accident. There is a fearlessness that is born.

The Kadampa lamas* of Eastern Tibet have a beautiful practice that remind them of this reality. Every night before they sleep, they turn their cups over as a meditation on impermanence, fully embracing the prospect that regardless of age and outward health, there is the possibility they will not wake up tomorrow.

The next morning, when they do wake up, they turn their cups over and meditate with gratitude on how they have the chance to live another day.

*lama (from the Tibetan word bla ma, guru in Sanskrit) Spiritual teacher. The master who shows one the nature of one’s mind. Any teacher who imparts instruction on the Dharma. [pg. 250 Reflections on a Mountain Lake by Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo, which can be found here]