Fear of dying is my reason for living.
It’s a partially unhealthy philosophy, but it’s how I operate, and I feel so fulfilled I have no need for a bucket list.
My heart sank a little yesterday when I learned Bubba Smith had died. I met him a few years ago and blogged about it. Bubba was such a gentleman, and kinda batshit crazy, but in a good way. (I suppose it’s now okay to add to the list of his conspiracies that he was thoroughly convinced his sister-in-law had killed his brother.)
Whenever someone dies, I can’t help but assess their life and wonder if they’d lived a full one, and there's no doubt Bubba had. After nine years in the NFL and a Super Bowl win, he made arguably the most successful transition from athlete to actor, with roles in 49 movies and TV shows, including recurring roles in five of those shows. That’s a damn full life, and I’m really glad I got to meet him.
Alright, enough for today – time to get back to another satisfying day of fearing death.