I am 35 years old, and last week I started planning my funeral.

Collage by Yurani. The shirt made by Claudia Flocco says "Life is borrowed."

I’m envisioning where I want to be and how I want to feel when that time comes. Some things came easily, like wanting to be in Colombia at my grandmother's coffee farm. I want to see nature and feel the breeze on my face. I want to smell fresh roasted coffee, share a joint with the people I love, swap stories, and listen to my favorite songs. 

But other things were harder. Thinking about how I might go, what might cause my death– that's not a thought that sits still. I know what I don't want. I don't want to be in a hospital bed. I don't want to suffer. I want whatever that moment looks like to have some dignity, some peace, some beauty in it if possible. And then there's my mom and my sister. Letting myself really go there, imagining them in that moment, that's where the planning stopped being an exercise and started being something much more tender.

Some doors you open slowly.

Collage by Yurani "envisioning my end of life."

I'm realizing how important it is to me, and I'm sure to others, to be represented in a way that reflects who we fully are. And I understand now why this planning matters so much. It's not just for us. It's for the people who love us, so they don't have to guess, so they don't fall into what society tells them should be done to honor the dead. The idea of my funeral taking place in a church, or in a funeral home charging the most and doing the minimum, just no. The people I love deserve better than that. And honestly, so do I.

Sitting with all of that, the grief, the uncertainty, the love: something unexpected happened. It cracked me open in the best way. 

Art by Yurani. "She's thinking."

So here's what I decided: if I'm going to help others die well, I should probably figure out what that means for me.

Because death can arrive at any moment. And in the meantime, I get to LIVE! I get to experience the new and the old, the safe and the scary. I get to feel sadness and excitement. I get to love and be loved. I get to keep building a legacy rooted in peace, creativity, rest, and joy. I get to make sure that anyone who meets me feels seen and inspired to be fully themselves.

During this process, I realized I'd never thought about my favorite flower. I love all flowers; they're all beautiful and delicate in their own ways. Just like us. Blooming on their own time, sometimes getting too much sun, sometimes not enough water. And isn't that enough? To bloom, even imperfectly, while we're here. And when I'm gone, I want to go back to that, to the earth, to the soil, to the roots. A natural burial. No embalming, no sealed casket, no concrete vault. Just my body returned the way it came, simply, honestly, and whole. Feeding something. Becoming part of something. That feels like me.

Please, have these conversations. The uncomfortable ones. Especially with the people you love, even when everyone is healthy, even when death feels far away. I've found that talking about it doesn't bring it closer. It just makes the love louder. There is something that shifts when you tell the people closest to you what you want, what matters to you, what you're not afraid of anymore. It strengthens something. It says, I trust you with this. And that kind of trust is its own form of intimacy.

Whenever you're ready, no rush, no pressure, find a quiet moment and ask yourself: if I could choose, what would that day look like? Hold it gently. Let it surprise you.

FAQs

1. Have you ever thought about what you want your death to look like? 

Most of us haven't, and that's okay. There's no wrong place to start. Maybe it's a location, a person, a song, a smell. You don't need to have it all figured out. Just let yourself wonder. The details will come.

2. Is there someone in your life you've been meaning to have "the conversation" with but keep putting off? 

It doesn't have to be a heavy sit-down talk. It can start small: "I've been thinking about this lately...." The people who love you want to know what matters to you. And you might be surprised how much lighter you both feel afterward.

3. What does a life that feels like you actually look like? 

Not what your family expects, not what society prescribes, but yours. Your flowers, your music, your people, your earth. If you could design the whole thing, from how you live to how you're remembered, what would stay? What would you let go?