Marcus Aurelius said, “Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now take what’s left and live it properly.”
I got the news today, oh boy. My buddy from high school and college died. It was horrifying and quick. Diagnosed in May. Dead in October. Same age as me.
We went separate ways after graduation. I hacked my way through life like an explorer with a machete in the rain forest. It has been a slog, it is exhausting, but I stubbornly wanted to make a life for myself swirled in a world of words. So onward I’ve marched, for nearly half a century, first as an office boy, then an insurance clerk, then as a marketer of remaindered books, and finally as a promoter of other people’s products and personal achievements — all to support my writing habit. I am not “rich”. Not financially. I have the best wife and son one could ask for. I have what I need. I push ahead.
My late friend chose another path. Long ago, he dreamed of life as a Supreme Court justice. He came from modest means, as did I. He had a sharp mind and a rapier wit. Among his many interests was photography. He taught himself film development as a kid, and dodged a headshot of himself into a portrait of the entire SCOTUS team.
He then managed to insert the image of a mutual friend into a photo of a swirling toilet bowl. All of us dopey young guys howled with laughter at my friend’s photographic magic trick. We all begged him to dodge our faces into a toilet bowl.
His friendship helped rescue me, for back then I was an emotional mess. Together we played cards, partied, and road-tripped throughout the Northeast and into Canada. I saw a wider world. I imagined that there might actually be a way out of my plight.
He met a girl while in school, at a relatively young age. They fell in love. His fondness for Southern Comfort mixed with Dr. Brown’s Cream Soda evolved to fine wine. Her family had a successful contracting company out-of-state. They married and he joined the company and helped grow it to new heights. No law school. No judgeships. But all the material comforts of the American Dream: Travel! Cars! Vacation homes! And he had the blessing of unconditional love from his wife and kids, no small matter.
I only saw him two or three times in the last forty-plus years. But his death prompts internal discussions about roads-not-taken. He grew the family business, helped his customers solve problems, and employed many people. I wonder, though, if late at night he wished he had pursued his dream of judgeships. Or was he perfectly content with his role as loving husband, dad, brother, mentor, service provider, and friend.
“Now take what’s left, and live it properly.” My question is, define “properly.”
Alev hasholem, RF. May your memory be a blessing.
