Why I Love Cemeteries

I’m tired.

For most of the last six weeks, I’ve traveled the U.S. on book tour, talking with people about writing and my Monsterious series. I’ve done a steady stream of stock signings, interviews, school presentations, and bookstore events. It’s been exciting, frustrating, fun, exhausting, and deeply fulfilling.

At the end of it all, I feel empty. Drained. In need of quiet, rest, and reflection. When I realized I didn’t have the time or the energy to write a new post this week, I waded through some of the hundreds of posts I’ve written over the last six years. The one I’m reposting below (originally published March 3, 2018) spoke to me, maybe because the thought of lying down for a long time sounds very appealing right now. I hope it helps you take another step toward Becoming Yourself.

I love cemeteries. That might sound odd, even morbid. I’m not insensitive to the memories of pain and loss that they hold for so many. I deeply respect that. But to me, they are special places that nurture my personal development in ways few others do.

Cemeteries invite quiet reflection. They encourage me to slow down, to ponder, to contemplate. What do I want my life to be about? How do I want to be remembered? They have an atmosphere of reverence and respect, rare qualities in a time often marked by derision and divisiveness. A stroll through a cemetery reminds me of what I believe is important: Relationships. Character. Purpose. Joie de vivre.

I love how my perspective is sharpened by reading tombstones. I’m reminded that all of these people were once like me. That one day a grave marker will bear my name. Soon after, I’ll probably be remembered only by loved ones and then, over time, by no one at all. Reading those names reminds me that life is a breath, and I am small. I’m not as important to the world as I sometimes think I am. That’s a healthy dose of humility.

Yet being in a cemetery also makes me feel cherished, prized, special. Not to a fame infatuated world but to One whom I believe made me, knows me, and desires me. I think of a cemetery as a transition point, a way station, a gate that leads from one season to the next. It’s a passageway connecting one plane of existence to another. The end of one journey and the start of a far greater adventure.

I could be wrong. Maybe death is the end. Perhaps nothing waits for me and everything that I am will be snuffed out like the flame of a candle. But I don’t think so. I have subjective reasons, things I’ve felt and heard and seen that point to something greater, something beyond this life. And there are more objective arguments that appeal to my rational mind as well. So for reasons of both the head and the heart, I believe and find hope.

So if you need some perspective on life, if the thought of some quiet reflection sounds like water for your thirsty soul, if you’re looking for a little hope, I encourage you to slip away for an hour. Stroll thoughtfully through a cemetery. If you do, you’ll take another step toward Becoming Yourself.