A toddler in an oversized baseball hat bends his knees and jumps, shooting joy through his arms into the cloudless blue sky. He bends and jumps, bends and jumps. A girl in a green dress covered in handsome foxes spins, her long auburn pigtails chasing each other like a dog after his tail. Three tow-headed children with pink iridescent butterfly wings weave through the royal purple delphiniums and fluffy white peonies. The yellow Tiger Swallowtails and red-disked alpine butterflies absorb the sparkly energy and carry it to the stage, flying through the collection of shiny steel drums, whose players smile and bob their heads as joy travels down through the sticks in their hands.

I’m trying to pull out of the post office in my tiny Alaskan town, but the steady stream of RVs, 4-wheelers and pedestrians clad in quick-dry pants and hiking boots are clogging the intersection, forcing me to pause. My fingers on the steering wheel tap along with the blinker and the rousing folk guitar beat that floods my car. A deep, gravely voice lifts from the speakers:

The other day I was on the library app, Libby, searching for a particular audiobook to borrow. It was not available, but one with an intriguing title was suggested to me: “Soul Bloom: Why We Need a Spiritual Revolution”. Even more interesting: the author was Rainn Wilson, aka Dwight from “The Office”.

I borrowed the audio book and when I noticed that Chapter 3 was called “Death, and How to Live It” I skipped right ahead.

I remember another phase of my life in which I avoided movies, articles, and books about “real life” death. It felt dark and scary; a topic to be avoided.

My favorite way to explore a new area is wandering walks.

During our EBTIECHI trip to El Valle de Antón, Panamá, I was slowly making my way home and saw a beautiful path that I felt might take me in the right direction.

It meandered through a forest, crossed a little river lined with perfectly placed stepping stones, and eventually began to traverse through what looked like the back gardens of local homes. The trees and flowers were so thick that I couldn’t see the surrounding mountains, which usually helped me ascertain where I was in relation to our casita.

Eventually I popped out of the foliage into what was certainly a local’s backyard, and before I could sneak off an elderly couple walked out their open door onto the patio.