Researchers discovered this year that our brains have an automatic reaction to believe that death happens to other people. We can consciously override that state––clearly, that is exactly what I’m doing now by considering my own demise by writing about this––but our natural tendency is to shield ourselves from really believing it.

The Guardian reported on the study, and one of the researchers explained: “We have this primal mechanism that means when the brain gets information that links self to death, something tells us it’s not reliable, so we shouldn’t believe it.”

The senior writer for the study took it a step further: “We shield ourselves from existential threats, or consciously thinking about the idea that we are going to die, by shutting down predictions about the self, or categorising the information as being about other people rather than ourselves.”

We’ve done ourselves a disservice as a society by tucking death into dark corners. We talk about that a lot when it comes to miscarriage, stillbirth, and neonatal death, but it applies to all death. We don’t really talk about death or encourage people to learn about death. Except, of course, in death cafes.

Is this macabre? Maybe a little. But I thought that it was fascinating that we can rationally believe something is true and talk ourselves out of it at the very same time.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

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The Wolvog has been trying to get a sandwich from a new-ish grilled cheese bar in our town, but every time we’ve gone, they’ve been closed. Last week, the timing worked out that we needed dinner, I didn’t have time to cook, and the place was open. He got the grilled cheese sandwich of his dreams.

I jokingly said in the car as we pulled out of the parking lot, “You’re not supposed to meet your heroes.” I meant it in the “I hope you’re not disappointed” sense. (But… do you get it? Because he didn’t… a “hero” is a type of sandwich… Bad joke or terrible joke?) It turns out that he was disappointed. The sandwich was awful.

I met my hero––several times. Norton Juster. The writer who made me want to be a writer. I’ve had tea with him and dinner with him. I’ve hung out after a performance with him and conducted phone interviews with him. I got really really lucky that my hero turned out to be just as awesome as I hoped.

But it could have gone the other way. It could have been a bad interaction. You take your chances when you meet your heroes.

Would you want to meet your hero? Have you met your hero?

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Are you also doing #MicroblogMondays? Add your link below. The list will be open until Tuesday morning. Link to the post itself, not your blog URL. (Don’t know what that means? Please read the three rules on this post to understand the difference between a permalink to a post and a blog’s main URL.) Only personal blogs can be added to the list. I will remove any posts that are connected to businesses or are sponsored post.

Carolyn Hax (I know I talk about her advice like preteens talk about pop bands) said the most profound, simple, applicable-to-everything thing this week: “Trust that humans go through this and humans get through this.”

She was writing about a divorce, giving advice to help the person through it. And that’s part of her advice among other thoughts such as taking things minute by minute rather than trying to think about the future or asking yourself what will help you heal.

But there was something so comforting in those words above because nothing is new. There is no one going through anything that another person hasn’t gone through before. Sure, small details may change. Someone had to be the first person who was publicly shamed on the Internet, but infamy is infamy and other people experienced it––widespread albeit offline––before that first person.

Which means there is always someone out there who has been through the pain you’re going though and may be able to help you navigate it simply by walking beside you. Does their presence negate your pain? Of course not. But it is easier to find your way through that pain when you know that you have someone to pause with you when you find yourself getting lost in your grief. Even better when you find a whole group of people who understand.

It’s not saying that your experience will be the same as someone else’s. Your end point out of that grief may look very different from someone else’s end point out of their grief from the same situation. It happens all the time in our community. But the point is that there is a through. That grief may never disappear, but it changes.

Passing along her words in case they give you comfort, too.

Many years ago, a friend was telling me about her country club because she thought that I should join, too, and a mutual friend told her, “Mel is not a joiner.” And Mel isn’t really a joiner EXCEPT when it’s joining the library. Yes, I just became a member of the fundraising group for the library system, and I am so excited.

I joined so I could begin volunteering with them. I also joined because they give you a membership card, a special newsletter, and emails for members only. I told the kids that I’m going to march around town with my card held out, casually saying in a very loud voice, “I wonder if there are any other library members around me right now.”

Just to be clear, this is different from my library card. I now have two cards: a library card for checking out books and a library member card for expressing my enormous love of libraries.

ChickieNob told me that she is concerned that I’m getting a little too into old lady activities. Birdwatching, fundraising for the library, attending meetings for Bifocal Needers of America. (That last club may be fake. Or it may not.) Face it, kid, I’m an old lady with old lady tastes.

AND I’M A LIBRARY MEMBER! (Which means that I’m awesome and part of an exclusive club of fundraising book nerds that anyone can join if you pay them money.)

I wonder if we’re going to talk about how we track our TBR lists at my first meeting.

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Stop procrastinating. Go make your backups. Don’t have regrets.

Seriously. Stop what you’re doing for a moment. It will take you fifteen minutes, tops. But you will have peace of mind for days and days. It’s the gift to yourself that keeps on giving.

As always, add any new thoughts to the Friday Backup post and peruse new comments in order to find out about methods, plug-ins, and devices that help you quickly back up your data and accounts.

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And now the blogs…

But first, second helpings of the posts that appeared in the open comment thread last week. In order to read the description before clicking over, please return to the open thread:

• “Waiting for Miscarriage” (byDeze)

Okay, now my choices this week.

My Path to Mommyhood has a post about speaking up for yourself. When she is about to get placed in a post-natal Pilates class, she explains: “I had two choices, 1) don’t say anything and keep the time at 5 and suffer through because I didn’t want to be ‘weird,’ or 2) explain a bit and be firm that while they may be a fun group, it’s not the class for me.” You’ll have to read to learn what she chose to do.

By the Brooke talks about how grief feels in her body. She writes, “I was trying to explain it to David last night… how I feel tired. Just knowing someone else is remembering Eliza is a gift because it starts to feel like something I carry alone.” What a simple, clear thing we can do for another person; just help them carry the memory by remembering alongside them.

Lastly, Empty Arms, Broken Heart has a post that I connected with this week about kids growing up. It’s an ache I know well, but I love this post for the wisdom in it: “It does hurt my heart sometimes when the little ones express missing him. They feel the disconnect as well. But, one day they will be the ones prepping for that leap from home, so it’s best I show them this is all ok, just another stage in life.” So true.

The roundup to the Roundup: I’m a library member. Your weekly backup nudge. And lots of great posts to read. So what did you find this week? Please use a permalink to the blog post (written between November 29th and December 6th) and not the blog’s main url. Not understanding why I’m asking you what you found this week? Read the original open thread post here.

Think about it this way. Look back at yourself ten years ago. I was 35. My job was different. The twins were only in school two hours per day. I hadn’t yet learned anything about computer programming (and didn’t believe I ever would). 35-year-old Melissa had no clue about the day-to-day life of 45-year-old Melissa. Isn’t that a bizarre thought?

My future self is a stranger.

I can look at the past and know how I reached this point. Imagine what each Melissa thought and felt along the way. But that future Melissa — tomorrow’s Melissa or next week’s Melissa or next year’s Melissa — are all a mystery.

Getting into birding feels natural right now. It would have been bizarre even five years ago. When asked about becoming a birder, 40-year-old Melissa would have the responded, “I hope not!” And yet, I found myself happily looking at birds a weekend or two ago, chatting about binoculars with a park ranger.

45-year-old Melissa cannot imagine what 50-year-old Melissa will be like. Will she be doing the same work? Have the same interests? The same friends?

Will she read this post five years from now and roll her eyes?

What do you think your future self will be like?