Three amigos

Three friends around my age died unexpectedly this past year, and it’s already been three years since Takeoff—from my favorite non–old-skool rap group, Migos—passed. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. 

I’ve thought a lot about death for as long as I’ve been alive—or at least as long as I can remember. 

Part of why I sometimes struggle to stay rooted in the present is because I’m preoccupied by my fascination with what happens after we die. As someone who cares about justice, equality, diversity, equity, and inclusion, death feels like the great equalizer—the one thing none of us can escape that brings us all together.

We’re all going to die.

Lately, death has felt closer than usual. Three friends around my age died unexpectedly this past year. None sat in my inner circle, but all were close enough to matter and their deaths hit me hard.

The most recent hit hardest. We’d drifted far enough apart that my friend still thought I lived in Arizona, even though I moved back to Minnesota almost eighteen months ago to be with my kids. Yet we still had enough connection that he invited me to hang with him, his wife, his two-year-old son, and his mom while they were there vacationing.

If I hadn’t moved back, I probably would’ve gone.

And maybe I would’ve been the one who got plowed by the hit-and-run driver in Phoenix that day. Maybe I could’ve saved my friend. Maybe nothing would’ve changed. We’ll never know.

I still don’t know how my two other friends died beyond “natural causes.” As far as I know both were in decent health. One day, I’m texting with them about sportsball or liking their social media posts, the next—gone.

I’m still processing.

Truth is, I’m ill-equipped to handle death.

Praise the universe, I haven’t lost any super close friends or even seen many dead bodies.

If I was a caveman, on the other hand, I would already be a double OG elder at forty-five and would’ve witnessed dozens of brutal deaths—maybe even delivered a few myself in kill-or-be-killed encounters, like the chimp warfare in Chimp Empire. That was their reality.

Our reality is gentler, but not gentle. After all, my friends’ kids are going to grow up without their dads.

I don’t know which is more jarring: knowing a friend died violently in front of his family or losing two others who were younger than me to natural causes.

I know intellectually that I could die tomorrow. But losing friends my age brings that awareness into sharp relief.

I’ve taken risks and written checks the future version of me has to cash. That future version is already knocking at the door.

But with three friends gone too soon—just like that—I’m so grateful I took those risks and didn’t play it safe.

Why choose the path of least resistance?

We only get one life.

Get busy living or get busy dying.

I’m going to honor my friends’ memories by continuing to live my life to the fullest and evolving into the best version of myself—not someday, not when I retire, but Now.

For most of my adult life, I poured my energy into saving and planning for a retirement I might not even live to see.

From now on, when I think about death—which I do all the time—I’ll use it as motivation to live in the here and now.