Livin' the Life!

It’s Friday March 20, 2009, the first day of spring. A gorgeous blue sky keeps tempting me outside as sunlight washes over the sides of my neighbours’ homes. It’s been a long time coming, this change of the seasons. Too damn long. But winter is the past and I for one, never linger there for long.

Life’s way too short.

I was reminded of this very fact yesterday while taking in an afternoon flick with my mom. She was in town for two days and while we Crate-and-Barreled our way through the first day, we decided a matinee would be a perfect afternoon diversion for the second.

And you can’t help but think of your own mortality while watching One Week, the Canadian indie film starring Pacey—you know, Canuck hottie Josh Jackson. Sitting there watching the beautiful scenery of this country go by on the screen, you question not only your mortality, but more important things like happiness. True happiness.

Are you living the life you thought you would? Are you living the life you want?

Yikes! Heavy stuff for a Friday, but there is a point.

In One Week, Jackson is diagnosed with an extremely aggressive form of cancer and before he can even consider entering treatment or becoming a patient he buys a secondhand motorcycle and heads west from Toronto in search of meaning, a point, adventure—anything that’ll make him feel alive.

The big question posed to the audience: “What would you do if you had one day, one week or one month to live”?

No light fare—that’s a six course turkey dinner with extra stuffing. I’m full just thinking about it and unless you’re really faced with that kind of news it’s a bit of quagmire conjuring up a true, honest answer. Though even contemplating the possibility has gotta be good for the soul.

What would I do? Well, I wouldn’t be wasting my time blogging to you people. That’s for damn sure. I’d get out there and live. Really live.

I’d talk to strangers. Try heroin. Swim in Lake Ontario.

I’d rent the Coco Chanel suite at the Ritz in Paris and spend a small fortune on a bespoke suit from Saville Row.

I’d dine at the French Laundry in Napa, The Fat Duck in London and Spain’s El Bulli.

I’d head north, venture beyond the tree line and drink a bottle of scotch while I watched the northern lights.

I’d throw a party and cater the hell out of it.

And I’d spend a day in complete sobriety, just to see what it’s like.

What would you do? Seriously, with a week to live what does your list look like?

Then don’t wait for chronic illness to get you up off your ass. Start living. Really living. If life isn’t about being happy, then what the hell is it for? We only get one chance at this thing.

I for one am pretty damn happy and more or less living the life I want but there’s always more—more to do, more to see, to explore and experience. I’m starting now.

Today I’m going to talk to a stranger and learn something about him. A story or a dream. Something that’ll connect two random human beings. Some common link. A bond. Anything.

And who knows, maybe he’ll turn out to be a heroin dealer?