“Sunset Orange”

This past Sunday I heard a song that grabbed my attention, prompted me to pause, and launched me down a rabbit hole of tumultuous emotion and effusive gratitude.

Like any good new track, it imprinted itself on my brain and subconsciously burrowed its way into my psyche.

From the moment I first heard it, I recognized this song had a profound, lasting impact on me.

And I haven’t stopped listening to it since.

Last weekend I was riding my bike as part of Ally Love’s live class, and she played this track that spoke to me on several levels. For her weekly “Sundays with Love” rides Ally typically selects music that resonates with the Peloton community in a deeper, more substantial way than some of the more generic songs so frequently played on the radio[1]. Notably, we were about three quarters of the way through this particular ride when she queued Lukas Graham’s “Funeral.”

I don’t know if it was Graham’s soaring vocals, his powerful lyrics, or my sweat-induced spike of adrenaline[2], but, in a matter of seconds, I burst into a blubbering ball of emotions as I continued to pump my legs and climb the leaderboard even as my eyes began to swell. In that moment, a healthy mix of sweat and tears streamed down my face, my heart pounded with exertion and vivacity, and my spirit soared with the hope, promise, and possibility of everything I have accomplished thus far and everything good that is yet to come.

In other words, I felt more alive than I have in a long, long time.

Amidst the solemn tolling of a church bell, Graham opens:

When it’s my time, I know you’ll tailor a new suit for me
And buy a new tie, so I’ll look this good.
Boy, you were right
You said only them good ones die young.
Never in my life did I look this good.

Pretty sweet so far, a little morbid perhaps, but nothing extraordinarily moving, right?

Keep reading.

Woah.

Haunting, chilling, celebratory, and lifegiving all at once, Graham’s commemorative anthem urges listeners to “pour one up” and get “wasted,” not in a show of excess, disrespect, or irresponsibility, but in profound reverence to the awesome beauty that is life. From an almost omniscient perspective, the speaker welcomes friends and family to his funeral, not in tearful mourning but in joyous celebration of a full life well-lived.

The beauty of this sentiment resonates with me on a profound level, and when I first heard Graham croon, “’cause the way I lived, it was amazing” I absolutely lost it. It is so easy to forget ourselves in the ebb and flow of everyday life that we cease to really be and instead plod through the motions, putting one foot in front of the other, clearing one obstacle at a time without really stopping to assess the beauty that surrounds us. Each of us moves through different seasons of life—seasons of joy, seasons of pain, seasons of growth, seasons of change—but it’s how we choose to react to life and proceed through each of these seasons that truly defines us. How often do we pause to take stock in all that we are and all that we have accomplished?

Graham continues,

You’re all on my tab
Bartenders pour out the whiskeys on me.
And don’t be so sad
‘Cause I lived this good.
We were closer
Now it’s over
But it doesn’t mean it’s closure.
I see you and I love you
I’ll be watching out above you.

This verse truly epitomizes the exquisite nature of Graham’s sweeping sentiment. The speaker urges his audience “don’t be so sad” and reminds them that he sees them, loves them, and is watching over them constantly, even as he has moved on to another life. Yes, there is deep pain and sadness that inevitably comes with this passing, but there is also a triumphant victory over death that comes as a result of a life well-lived. Consequently, the funeral metamorphosizes from a sullen, somber event into a commemorative, hopeful gathering that pays homage to the deceased by instilling the same sense of vivacity and optimism he once embodied into the hearts of those who remain.

Again, woah.

Who wouldn’t want to go out this way—in celebration of the profound, monumental impact you had on friends and family throughout life?

My Grandpa Marley passed away when I was a senior in college. I vividly remember the specific table I was sitting at when I received the news while eating in South Dining Hall, and I distinctly recall feeling like the world would never be the same. Although my grandpa lived hundreds of miles away and we saw each other infrequently, his cheerful candor, youthful optimism, and genuine curiosity to be part of my life formed a deep bond between us and solidified an appreciation for the mutual connection we shared. Grandpa was extremely proud of the young woman I had become, and he made a point of letting me know this during routine phone calls we shared throughout my four years in school. Indeed, I have fond memories traversing South Quad while on the phone with Grandpa, alternating between people watching and bouncing from bench to bench as the sun began to set and our conversation continued to linger. It never got old, telling Grandpa about everyone I had met and everything I had learned that day; he was always a source of joy and love, and when I heard the news that he was gone, I was beside myself with grief. I didn’t know how I could possibly bring myself to attend his funeral and say goodbye to this man who had cared so fully and so deeply for the people around him.

As strange as it may sound, attending Grandpa’s funeral was one of the best, most beneficial things I could have done as a part of the grieving process. The service was moving, and we celebrated his life with songs, readings, and poems that captured not only the life Marley had lived but the profound impact he had exacted on the people who loved him.

And yet, the funeral wasn’t as powerful as what came after. Once my extended family finished greeting friends and neighbors and said farewell to the last of Marley’s well-wishers, we returned to Grandpa’s house and gathered around his living room to say goodbye on our own terms. Without much discussion or organization, we intuitively gathered around and began to make Grandpa’s favorite drink—Seagram’s 7 whiskey and ginger ale, or what we fondly referred to as “Marleys.” Then, one by one, we alternated telling our favorite stories of the father and grandfather that had left such a profound impact on our lives. With each memory we laughed, cried, and rejoiced, choosing to fondly reminisce and embrace the exquisite grace of the moment rather than lose ourselves in the grief that threatened to consume us. Grandpa lived a good life, a full life, a life of love, joy, and devotion to others, and he would have wanted nothing more than for us to gather together, pour our highballs, and raise a toast to his beautiful legacy.

So that’s what we did.

And, if I’m being honest, it was one of the fondest, most formative memories I think I’ll ever have.

Life is both fragile and eternal: The people we love are never truly gone if we choose to honor and celebrate them in the actions we choose to take every day moving forward.

Everyone welcome to my funeral.
Everyone I know better be wasted.
You know I would pour one up
‘Cause the way I lived, it was amazing.
Ooh ooh ooh
All of my friends are in the room.
Ooh ooh ooh
Party for me, I’d party too.
Ooh ooh ooh
All of my friends are in the room.
Ooh ooh ooh
Party for me, I’d party too.
Everyone welcome to my funeral.
Everyone I know better be wasted.
You know I would pour one up
‘Cause the way I lived, it was amazing.
Welcome to my funeral.
Everyone I know better be wasted.
You know I would pour one up
‘Cause the way I lived, it was amazing.
Welcome to my funeral.
Everyone I know better be wasted.
You know I would pour one up
‘Cause the way I lived, it was amazing.
So welcome to my funeral.
Welcome to my funeral.

Insane, right?

As Ferris Bueller famously quotes in the final lines of his movie, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” How often do we disengage, move through the paces, and forget to look up, only to realize we have missed the true point of it all? How often do we let ourselves “ride off into the sunset” and conclude significant life moments without ever actually stopping to appreciate that the sunset even existed in the first place?

What if, instead, we challenged ourselves to celebrate the beauty in all things—in all moments—and march through life with a confident sense of pride and ownership?

What if, instead, we lived in a way that was truly amazing?

Keep in mind, we shouldn’t wait for our “funerals” to make this happen. In fact, if we wait for these moments—for when we are already gone—then it is simply too late. To avoid this, how might we internalize this profound call to action so we can live lives we are a proud of, right here and right now?

If I’m being honest, I wasn’t planning to write this blog this week. I maintain an editorial calendar and had rough plans to move forward with content I will likely develop at a later date. However, something about Lukas Graham’s “Funeral” spoke to me last Sunday, and this feeling has continued to resonate with me throughout the entire week. In fact, I have probably (quite literally) listened to this song at least fifty times since my weekend ride with Ally Love. It just goes to show you the power that comes with opening ourselves to the infinite possibilities we encounter daily. We never quite know what we are going to experience or who we are going to encounter, but if we choose to exist in a state of constant possibility, then we will never miss the beautiful moments as they unfold around us.

This way, we can someday look down as our family and friends gather at our funeral and confidently say,

“The way I lived, it was amazing.”