Stop Acting Like You’re Dead

My friends and family have been really concerned since my accident, but tragedy does that, doesn’t it? It pulls people closer, at least for a minute. It’s the same script every time. You go to a funeral, someone inevitably says, “We should all get together more often.”

I’ve heard that line at every fucking funeral I’ve ever attended.

And what does it actually mean? I think it means this: we live on a planet full of people walking around soaked in regret, or worse, actively manufacturing future regret through inaction. And that, my friends, is the real goddamned tragedy.

People who hadn’t spent much time with me in the months before the accident suddenly started hovering. Calling every day. Checking in constantly. And I don’t say this unkindly, but I think regret is at least part of the motivator. Regret for time not taken. Conversations not had.

But here’s the brutal truth: by the time there’s an accident, or worse, a funeral, it’s already too late to get that time back. So what the hell are regrets good for? Absolutely nothing.

Here’s some advice for the living: stop acting like you’re dead. Stop acting like you don’t have a choice, because you fucking do.

When I was lying in that hospital bed this time, I was a very different person than the one who lay in a hospital bed four years ago in Jacksonville, Florida. This time, I had no regrets. None. I’ve been living with intent. With purpose. Trying to create impact and legacy. I live each day like it might be my last because, newsflash, it actually might be.

The people standing around that bed with me? I suspect there were a lot of regrets in that room. And that’s no way to live.

So fucking stop it.

Start living unapologetically. As far as any of us know, we get one shot at this. Start living for you. Start fucking living. Stop pretending you’re trapped or powerless or stuck on some invisible track you didn’t choose. Of course you have a say in your life’s direction.

You can drift wherever the wind blows you…or you can carve your own fucking path.

I strongly recommend the second option.

Because here’s what happens when you do: you smile more. I fucking promise. You stop being angry at every passing minute because you actually lived those minutes instead of watching them bleed out.

And when death finally comes knocking? You can smile.

You can smile knowing you lived fully. Knowing you didn’t leave your life untouched. Knowing you don’t have a pile of “someday” rotting in the corner of your soul.

So in the most Gen X way I can possibly say this: Stop fucking around.