I touched on this once before, but I’m wondering if I’m the only person here who occasionally wakes up at night by the jarring thought, “Oh, crap. One day I’m going to be dead.”

It happens at like 1, 2 in the morning, shortly after I go to bed. I’ll be lying there, all quiet, my wife sound asleep, thinking, “This isn’t a hypothetical. This isn’t a possibility. This is—period.” Boy, do I hate those thoughts. Hate them. And yet, in the right frame of mind, they also serve as unrivaled motivators. Today I can choose to sit around and complain or gripe or do nothing, or I can take f—ing action. Run in the rain. Eat an ice cream sundae. Watch my favorite movie. Flop around with my kids. The cliche is, “Don’t forget to tell people you love them before it’s too late,” but I reject that concept. This isn’t about words. It’s about action. Jump out of a plane. Fly to Tokyo. Spit off a building. Read my book and buy it at full price (kidding). That’s what the thought of death—at its best—does for me. It drives me and inspires me.

So f— death. I’ll live.

(Now back to our regularly scheduled program)