I love carbonated water — especially with grapefruit or lime flavors. For a long time, my choice was Bubly brand or La Croix. I drank those like an addict — sometimes guzzling a six-pack in a single day. Seriously.
But it’s hard to tune out information that something as innocuous as canned carbonated water could still be unhealthy for you, especially considering the volume of my consumption. So I decided to cut back a little. Fewer six-pack days. But still… it was a problem. And I do value my health and I’m working hard to improve it.
So, I decided I had to do something drastic. Quit, mostly. I’d let myself have a little of this thing I liked a lot. There would be no more bulk purchases. Cans only. I knew this would mean largely sacrificing my love for the cold feel of the can in my hand and the satisfying snap when cracking open the next one.
Liquid Death
Then along comes Liquid Death. I discovered the black can (sparkling water) and the white can (mountain water) and liked them both. But then I found the green can of Liquid Death Severed Lime, and I fell in love with this tall, green, velvety, citrus-flavored beverage packaged like a grassy Colt 45.
Nowadays, four out of five times when I buy my lime drink, it’s at a gas station or convenience store. I grab one when I’m driving somewhere on a hot day. Okay, two. I get back in the car, crack one open, enjoy the cool, liquidy lime flavor, then take off with my tall green friend named Liquid Death riding in the cup holder next to me. This never held any symbolism for me.
Until One Day
Until one day, when I opened the convenience store glass cooler door, I noticed myself pause while reaching for the green can with the huge label reading “Liquid Death." I suddenly wondered if it was a bad omen to buy this when I was driving.
I decided I’d still get it but I’d have to be extra vigilant on the road. Now that this had hit a conscious level, I couldn’t un-think it. Was this mental hot box healthy? (Buy it, don’t buy it, buy it.) Life-saving? Meaningless fear floating around? Whatever it was, it had my attention, and it was a block between me and the enjoyment of my beverage. This beverage and its name simultaneously made me happy and stirred thoughts of my end. What the heck? All from a label?
Eventually I created a mental workaround so I could still get my fix.
I decided it’s an opportunity!
I decided it’s a moment for existential examination!
It’s my memento mori!
The can with the edgy label allows me an opportunity to contemplate death, and by inversion, the beauty of life, each time I enjoy the product. I can savor the moment. I can remember life is finite.
Impermanence
Some folks visit cemeteries for this reason. I’ve done it too. Author Robin Sharma talks about this a lot. He’s one of many people who encourages thinking about death and in so doing we cultivate a gratitude and zest for life, for today. People of religions worldwide practice contemplating death to appreciate life and to remember its impermanence. Memento mori is universal.
I’ve intentionally walked through cemeteries filled with strangers whose stories I imagine are at once magical and common and beautiful. I've read headstone inscriptions and dreamed up tales of lives well lived. I’ve wondered what dreams these people still had inside of them when their body’s total running time on earth was up. I’ve cried thinking about all the people who are missing their loved ones.
I’ve interviewed people about their life stories, documenting slices of lives lived that amount to a personal legacy and collectively a family legacy. These are ways to keep the stories and memories alive long after we’re all gone. What I’m saying is I’ve made an effort to be mindful of death and made an effort to accept that it’s part of this earthly experience for all of us. “None of us is getting out alive.”
So now when I reach for the occasional can of Liquid Death, I do so with intentionality and drink a toast to gratitude for another day. The edgy imagery reminds me to take more chances, live for today, forget the naysayers, jam the signal on the judges, block out the noise, embrace love, art and music, and rejoice a little more! I look fear in the eye and invisible wink.
The creepy label reminds me to have more fun, and to not take everything so dang seriously. It’s a nudge to liberate myself, unlock my whole authentic self, stop self-silencing and to be free in knowing my impermanence, my story, my voice and my life are good and enough and no less valuable than anyone else’s.
I didn’t expect to loosen my grip on seriousness through a can of water let alone find some self-acceptance in it, but I think I did. I changed the ingredients label to read as follows:
Ingredients: Carbonated Mountain Water, Agave Nectar, Lime Extract, Citrus Acid, Natural Flavor, Natural Lime Flavor, Orange Extract, memento mori, self-acceptance, verve.
Every day that we dodge death is a chance to really live. Liquid Death Severed Lime means more to me than “murdering my thirst.”
To me, it means living out loud, expressing myself, and practicing less self-silencing. I want to shout “just be kind” and I want to holler “love your neighbor!” More “live and let live” and less “my way or the highway.”
Sometimes I think my personal constitution has a governor on it — you can be this happy and this confident and this proud, but never more. So while I try to push the limit on my governor, I’ll never be able to shut out the world and its problems. And I don’t want to. I want to be here and well and engaged so I can make a difference.
So maybe intentionally carving out a moment with a lime beverage that reminds me of life’s impermanence is one small way to keep going amidst life’s difficulties. A can of coping can’t hurt.
And it might even help me to show up in the world a little brighter, a little better and a little more equipped to pour another glass of love for the people of this planet.