My heart thunders in my ears as I step out behind the red velvet curtain and onto the dimly lit stage. My legs threatening to give out, I put one step in front of the other, approaching the lone, backless three legged barstool in a slow, deliberate approach. I lift my gaze and peer out into the crowd. Thousands of folks fill the theater, an overpowering amalgamation of perfume, sweet tobacco, and stale liquor fills the space. I am met with silence as I take my seat, the anticipation palpable.

I should not be here. Yesterday, I was Ronald Oullette. A fledgling real estate agent from Worcester MA. When I look in the mirror, I would see a shining bald, slightly liver spotted head. Tan skin, wrought tight over my sinewy arms and extraordinary thin legs. I would never consider myself fat, but certainly have a slightly rotund abdomen, built from the many good times shared over a perfectly well grilled ribeye and masterfully crafted cocktail. The past ten years battling prostate cancer has done no justice for my aging body. Bones creaking and joints aching. An ache in my knee and hips reminds me of my wilder youth, working the streets with the crew instead of attending classes. My body is not the body of the 29 year man standing on this stage. No, a far cry from it.

Yet here I am, for reasons I cannot understand, nor desire to learn. I am to give a lecture to the students of the university, I am told. For them to learn and gain insight on how they too - with hard work and determination - can make breakthroughs in the world of modern philosophy - a subject I have not studied, as I have not studied any subject matter, outside of the art of living.

My words catch in my throat. I take a deep breath and bend down, pleasantly surprised at the ease my newfound body obeys, and pick up the glass gin with a splash of tonic left for me. They suggested water, but I found the lingering burn of a well mixed drink did wonders on the nerves. Settling into my seat, a word yet not spoken, I pull out a flimsy, slightly bent cigarette out of my front shirt pocket, light it, and take a deep drag. The smoke, easing its way into my lungs, Tightening and relaxing my chest all in the same motion. Blowing out the smoke, I clear my through, lift my gaze, and begin.

“If you came to learn the secrets of philosophy, you are in the wrong room” I exclaim, taking another sip of my gin, allowing the sweet, bitter tang to coat my tongue and gums. “The fact that you all are here today tells me one thing. You seek the easy way. You want the answers given to you, instead of earned. Answers, that you will not get from me.” I pause, lifting the glass to my lips once more, savoring the distinct flavor of the quinine, eyes lifted scanning the crowed. Another hit of the cigarette, inhale, pause, exhale.

Confused murmurs diffuse through the crowd. I pay no mind as I raise my voice over the hushed voices. “No, no answers will be given today. No one will leave feeling a master of the universe. You will go back to your dorms no smarter, no closer to understanding the history of philosophy, or how you will write your own ethos and create a master work. No. But what I will share with you all, is how to live. How to savor life’s moments, and remind yourself each day, that death is around the corner. Death is inevitable, and through death, you will learn to live. I will tell you what to savor, what to hold on to, and what to let go. I will tell you what it means, to live a good life.”

Another pause. I stand, taking the last, long drag of the cigarette. The slow burn crawls down my throat and into my lungs like a slow moving forest fire, promptly drenched as I empty the rest of the gin into my mouth, swish it around and finish in a big gulp. Satisfied for the first time in a decade, I savor the satisfaction of indulgence as the alcohol washes through my body. Feeling the flush in my cheeks I have craved for years, a smile cracks my lips as I settle back down on the stool, microphone in hand, and begin.

“It’s sitting on an old bench, half rusted away by the consistent onslaught of salt air, with your four year old dog resting on your feet, ensuring that you are going nowhere.

It’s the sun beating down on the right side of your face, the warmth caressing the back of your neck. You close your eyes as the squawking calls of terns carry across the bay with the cool sea breeze, punctuated by the spraying breath of a green sea turtle, surfacing after a snack of eel grass.

It’s the doctors finding a suspicious tumor growing in your abdomen. Invading your space, your dreams, your peace. Weeks go by with no answers. Three rounds of imaging and a biopsy, all you can do is wait.

It’s coming to terms with the likely chance that at the inexperienced age of 29, you have cancer.

It’s hearing your fiancé, laying in bed next to you, softly crying herself to sleep - attempting to hold it all together for your sake.

It’s you not eating for three straight days.

It’s getting a call from your doctor, the results are in and the tumor is benign. You grieved for yourself before your time, and now are numb.

It’s that feeling of joy, of hunger, of exhaustion, all washing back over you. Never gone, the tide just drew it out before the tsunami hit the shores

It’s being back on that bench with your dog, watching the tall brown grass dance in the salty breeze with the cactus. Listening to the songs of a bird and the screech of a hawk circling overhead. You open up your senses, and take it all in