Dying on the Dance floor...

Shortly before Christmas, I learned that my great-uncle Von died suddenly on a nighttime boat ride in NYC. No, this is not some plea for sympathy or condolences. For some reason, although I love my uncle dearly and I sincerely am sorry for my great aunt, I was oddly enlightened. While I am sad that he died, I am happy about the way that he died. Who wouldn't want to literally have their last dance?

When my heart stops, I don't want it to be because some Johns Hopkins Medical School-educated doctor got permission from my next of kin to pull the plug. I don't want it to be the result of some senseless act of violence. I don't want it to be because I had finally lost the proverbial battle to some terminal illness. I want it to be because my life was full, I surpassed my potential, served my purpose, loved hard and loved often, and whatever I was supposed to do here on this God-forsaken earth was successfully completed. I want to be among loved ones, having the time of my life at the end of my life -- literally dancing the night away.

Until last year death was something distant. I had family members that had passed away before then, but I was young and they were suffering from various health problems. It finally hit me at 20, when someone my age with whom I had many things in common was murdered. I was angry at death because it came too close. Needless to say, not because it shouldn't be said, but because it is much too cliche, my life changed after that.

I set higher goals for myself and actually started making strides to reach them. I became closer to those around me. I smiled more. I did all the things that people do when they realize their own mortality. At the risk of sounding even more cliche, I tried to live each day as if it were my last.

I became so focused on the fact that I could just up and die at any moment (morbid, but true), that I tried so hard to make sure that every breath that I took meant something.

With this recent loss, I have one thing to say about my former mentality: "FUCK THAT." (I make no apologies for the profanity, because there are things far more profane than words society has deemed unacceptable. I'll save that discussion for another time.)

I am going to live each day as if I'm going to live forever. It just seems to me that life would be just a bit less morbid. Why not be daring? Why should I give a shit about what anyone has to say about anything? From now on, I'm going to do what I want to do.

So much time is wasted on superficial shit. From baaaalllin' to stuntin' -- it's all bullshit. Sure, it's fun to sing along and shoot the invisible J in the club, but outside of those confines, it's not hot. Having the flyest ride or the cleanest 'fit means nothing in the long run. I'd rather ride the bus with a real dude, than occupy the passenger-side of a luxury vehicle with a fake.

Since I plan on living forever, living for today is null and void. Living for tomorrow and the tomorrows after that makes more sense to me. Sure, I'm young now and have license to be proud of seeing the bottom of a bottle of Bacardi or to be not so proud when I'm procrastinating on "crackbook" instead of doing something more productive; but, one day, that license will expire and I'll be heating up baby bottles and trying desperately to not procrastinate on fulfilling whatever task I have to complete to pay the bills. While the latter image may not be attractive to some, it's a beautiful reality to me.

Tomorrow may not come, but I'd rather spend today thinking I have all the tomorrows in the world. And when I dance, I'll move as if the music was going to last forever because I have all the time in the world.