When I was seventeen, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right". It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past thirty-three years, I've looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?". And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything - all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and thankfully I'm fine now.

This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept: no one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma - which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later. Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward, you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something - your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. Because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the well worn path, and that will make all the difference.

Diceva «Un tempo la gente che viveva nelle città ne era orgogliosa. Tutti si sentivano partecipi di una vista, o dei materiali di un muro, di una prospettiva o di uno slargo riparato. E gli abitanti potenti e ricchi si davano da fare per il luogo nel suo insieme. Lo consideravano una loro estensione, la sua bellezza generale era anche la loro gloria privata».
Ne parlava con una strana nostalgia appassionata nella voce, come se avesse conosciuto le città di allora e chi le aveva costruite. Diceva «Adesso sono solo dei centri di saccheggio di energie umane, e gli abitanti ricchi e potenti vivono in mezzo ai loro stessi detriti, cercano solo di blindarsi e impermeabilizzarsi più che possono all'orrore che hanno prodotto, scapparsene lontani alla prima occasione. E la gente accetta di adattare i propri desideri, farseli snaturare e indirizzare su oggetti, su automobili e vestiti e apparecchi elettronici e giocattoli inutili che servono a far dimenticare cosa è diventato il mondo».