“Pain in this life is not avoidable, but the pain we create avoiding pain is avoidable.”
― R.D. Laing
**The audio recording of this Morton Train is available to paid subscribers here.**
My dear friend, Elizabeth Wilson, a.k.a. Mama Liz, turned 87 in 2008. She was strong and independent at 87 but her care needs were beginning to increase. We’d become incredibly close by then, even referring to ourselves as chosen family, and - like most families - there were certain topics of conversation that we carefully avoided.
I was getting anxious about this avoidance so I decided to write Mama Liz a letter and send it in the mail. This seemed much easier than a phone call because I knew she’d need time to digest the delicate subject matter and to have privacy while she did that. Knowing her as well as I did, I could picture the journey that letter would take from her mailbox to her little corner desk and, finally, to her bedside table for a late night review with wine glass in hand. I could picture that, when she was ready, she’d underline certain words and make notes in the margins with her flowery cursive.
The gist of the letter was that I wanted to know her wishes in regards to her eventual passing - what did she want for a memorial service, did she want a cremation or a burial, did she want to sign a DNR or a DNI, etc. All those big questions had been, to that point, unasked and unanswered. I explained in the letter that, because her nieces and nephew lived far away, it was likely that I’d be the one making decisions on her behalf if and when she was unable to make them on her own. Not only did I need to know what her wishes were in the matters of life and death, I needed legal documentation to prove that she wanted me to have such responsibilities. Although we were certainly family to one another, I could in no way be considered “next of kin” in any official capacity.
I mailed the letter to Mama Liz and waited the few days for it to reach her. Then I waited a few more days. Finally, she called me.
“Dear daughter,” she said with her dramatic flare. “I got your letter. You’re so brave, Elizabeth! You’re so brave! To be honest, when I first started to read it, it was too much for me. I had to put it away. But today I got up the courage to read the whole thing. Thank you for this.”
I asked her why she thought I was brave and she said, “Well it makes me uncomfortable to talk about these sorts of things.”
I replied to her, “Well it makes me uncomfortable not to talk about them.”
So we talked about them and took action steps accordingly. It was such a relief. Not just for me but for her as well.
Seven years later, as I rushed to Yale New Haven Hospital in the middle of the night, I tucked the Power of Attorney, Health Care Proxy, and prepaid cremation documents into my bag. Those 36 hours that I and other loved ones spent with her in the ICU were difficult, of course. But having those documents, and being sure of her wishes, gave me the authority to be her advocate, as well as the peace-of-mind to be truly present during her time of transition and the hours leading up to it.
I’ll always be grateful for that difficult - and once avoided - conversation, and for her willingness to have it.
***
Avoidance is really just a form of procrastination. We all do it. Avoidance is so very human, isn’t it? I mean… Why face the bad news, why experience the uncomfortable feelings, why say aloud the hard truths, why make a necessary change when we can do it on another day, at another time, way off in the future, if ever.
There are, though, certain things in life where the avoidance of them harms us more than the things themselves. So it behooves each of us to occasionally ask that big question, “What am I avoiding?” Or, perhaps, the better question is, “What can I no longer afford to avoid?”
On an individual level, I’m fascinated by the inexplicable shift that happens in a person when they choose to no longer avoid what’s been painstakingly avoided up until that moment. It’s like a new courage is born within that person, a courage that perhaps they didn’t realize they were capable of wielding.
On a collective level, I’m fascinated by that same inexplicable shift from avoidance to courageous action. In 2025, that shift is rippling through the collective as We The People are acknowledging the uncomfortable truth that our democracy has been hijacked by fascist rule, a hijacking that’s been decades in-the-making. We are acknowledging that we cannot afford to avoid dealing with this reality. We cannot afford to hide our heads in the proverbial sand. We are choosing - on a massive scale - to stand up and speak out and make change happen.
***
No matter if it’s the individual or the collective, when we finally face whatever it is we’ve been avoiding, we are allowing a truth to set us free. Even if it’s initially quite excruciating.
Perhaps what can give us courage when we make a choice to stop avoiding something difficult is to consciously do it on behalf of our future selves. Like do that hard thing now knowing that it’ll make things easier in the future.
I mean, when Mama Liz at age 87 sat down with an attorney to write out those health directives, she did so on behalf of her 94 year-old self in that hospital bed. And when we march & organize & educate & agitate in 2025 at a level we’ve never done before, we are collectively taking care of our future selves, our future democracy, our future world.
Aren’t you grateful to yourself for a memorable moment in your past when you courageously stopped avoiding a difficult truth and faced it head on? Can’t we be, as a collective, grateful to the previous generations who could no longer avoid the reality of a societal injustice and who did something wild and extraordinary about it?
Let’s not avoid the chances we have now - individually & collectively - to tell the truth, to find new courage, and to take action in whatever form that takes.
Our future selves will thank us.
Beautiful
Elegant, inspiring, creative, and so loving. Beautiful piece. xo