I met Nathan during a brief Airbnb stay when I was apartment-hunting in Encinitas, California earlier this year. For decades Encinitas, a beachside surfer paradise an hour outside San Diego, attracted spiritual seekers and souls hungry for healing and respite from the rest of the world. Nathan and I were both.

Self-Realization Fellowship, the mediation practice that inspired both the Beatles and Apple founder Steve Jobs, has a prominent temple with a gold dome in the center of town and a picturesque meditation garden hanging off the edge of a cliff, attracting many followers from around the world before the pandemic hit. My own meditation school was also based there. 

As a flatmate Nathan exuded calm, slow-moving energy. Mine was fast and furious. I would run into the apartment, usually frazzled, and then rush out to run more errands. There seemed not enough time to sit down and talk.

Over the next few days, Nathan and I bonded over a shared sense of humor, interest in spirituality and meditation as well as our fandom of the Bachelor and Bachelorette franchises, with all its drama and silly dynamics. We’d remember nonsensical catchphrases and throw them at each other.

“But are you here for the right reasons?” I’d ask from the kitchen while unwrapping sushi takeout and Nathan would giggle.

It’s rare to meet people with whom you resonate on the same wavelength and share such banter and friendship so naturally. Nathan was one of these rare people.

I would soon understand that there were reasons behind Nathan’s quiet energy and thin frame: he was battling Lyme disease for years, trying every treatment  under the sun. Through all the darkness, there were tiny glimmers of light dancing in his eyes. While he was struggling physically, I would later learn he had also a long battle with mental illness and depression.

When I moved out to a new apartment, I ran into Nathan once on the Moonlight Beach, where he took strolls every day. I startled him. He was so thin, I was afraid of breaking him if I gave him a hug. We walked together for a while, squinting at the setting sun. Something about him always made me want to help him somehow.

As a certified energy healer in a practice similar to acupuncture, I did offer to help. Two or three times I conducted energy healing sessions for Nathan. As a trained energy healer himself, Nathan was in tune and responsive to the practice. He inspired me to be a better healer, to take it more seriously. I think his intuition and receptivity is what made it harder for him to battle his demons: he could feel too much, all at once.

I knew Nathan only briefly, but I was glad I could help. When I moved to a nearby town and the Coronavirus outbreak added restrictions to our movements, we lost touch for a while. We would text from time to time, a call once in a while.

A few months ago, I got a call from Nathan and this time his tone sounded urgent, concerned.

He asked if I would be willing to come over to the apartment, as he and his landlord thought it would be a good idea to cleanse the energy there. 

He described “something dark,” something that was haunting him.

As a relatively new energy healer, I politely declined, doubting there was anything else I could do, advising him what he could do without this external help. I also knew he was trying and doing everything he could think of to get help, both in terms of medical help and additional holistic support.

The last time we corresponded was in early July when I texted him and he responded with “I was thinking about you today.” Synchronized, almost telepathic communications with friends are always special. I sent him photos of my new dog Zoya, and he called her the “cutest puppy ever.” He’d left Encinitas, but we talked of meeting up when he was back in town.

I never heard from Nathan again. At the end of July, he chose to end his life through a process he called euthanasia. The suffering he described as “physical, emotional, spiritual” in his goodbye letter was too much. He fought so hard. He was 38 years old.

“The process has been agonizing, bankrupting, crippling and I have only gotten sicker,” he wrote in a note posted on his public Facebook later and e-mailed to friends. “For the last 4-5 years I feel like I have the flu every day to varying degrees, spend all but a couple hours a day in bed.”

He also suspected contracting Coronavirus recently and shared frustration about a healthcare system that failed to support chronic Lyme disease patients.

“I believe that our country needs to do a better job of supporting people with Lyme disease,” Nathan wrote. “I can attest that the disease can be absolutely crippling and people like me should qualify for disability rather than bankrupt our families or kill ourselves.”

Today I pray and hope for his soul’s peaceful transition, and for grace and solace for his family and friends. I also wish I did go to the Encinitas apartment that day when he asked for a prayer. 

Every day, we receive direct requests or less overt inspiration to act, to create, to offer acts of kindness. How many do we listen to?

I will always remember Nathan as a thoughtful, sweet soul walking along Moonlight Beach, smiling into the distance, checking if I wanted to be left alone on the beach. 

And for me Nathan Richardson will be forever a reminder of something else: whenever you receive an inspiration to be kind to others, to walk alongside them or just hold space for them, whatever it is -- always act on it.

None of us are here for very long.