Well, this is it. This is the end of all things. We are staring into the casket with our name on it. We have been given a sure and certain diagnosis. Two months to go. What matters in those two months that has never mattered before?
Really think about it. What rises to the top of the to-do list? Would you keep working, just to have something to do? Would you need to work to eat? Would you be extravagant? Would you savor moments more? Could you?
Or would it inevitably be a series of factors outside of our control? Would it be a series of things that we try but can not necessarily pull off? After all, just because we know we are going to die doesn’t mean we are given some super power.
Or does it? Are we given a keen awareness of life? Do we cut through tape that most people stop for? Do we disregard unnecessary pauses? Do we get to sort of a holy urgency, not of the unimportant but of making the important happen?
Inevitably we will have options. We will have some opportunity to make an easier living. Doing something easy is always in our grasps. But we all have this nagging sense, this aggravating luring toward something important.