It’s been a somber few weeks here at Casa Covington. One of my very best friends just lost her brother to colon cancer. He was only 44. He left behind a wife and little girl. A sister. Parents. An extended family and work colleagues situated all over the world.
Then this past Saturday, I received word that the father of my childhood friend (who I’ve known since I was four) passed away suddenly from a massive heart attack. A rabid comic book fan, he’d even written a few of his own, but never published them or shared them with anyone. He was a year away from retirement. He and his wife had been saving, scrimping, planning for the day when he would work no more.
Now he is no more.
The lesson here?
Live. Your. Dream. NOW, dammit.
Perhaps you’ve been thinking about writing a book. The ideas are there. The characters are speaking to you. Or you’ve started writing, but have put it down, saying there will be more time for it later. When the kids are grown. When you’ve retired from your job. When…whatever.
Here’s the thing…you may be on this planet for 50 more years, or for 50 more minutes. Think about that. I mean, really think about that. Are you doing what you really want to do? What you love?
Now think about when you die. What do you want etched on your tombstone? “She longed to write.” “She started writing.” Or do you want, “She lived her dream and wrote her heart out.”
I want the latter.
I hope you do, too.