“We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.” – Charles Bukowski
It was October of 2010, and Tim didn’t know it, but in four days he’d be dead.
He was drunk and screaming at me through his phone, “Love, Love, Love! Goddammit, life is about love!”
I couldn’t disagree.
He’d been through hell and back more than once. But Tim was was abundant with a precious resource, passion.
He took chances and learned some tough lessons. He made a lot of mistakes but faced his challenges head on. Now, it was cancer.
He was fearless, but afraid of himself.
In the end, it was people who killed him.
People, who couldn’t live with his brutal honesty. People, who refused to accept their faults and hid behind a mask. People, who couldn’t return love in the same proportion that he dished it out.
People, like me.
He was my best friend and while he had an uncanny ability to laugh in the face of disaster, he wasn’t laughing that night. He felt like he’d let it all slip away. Like he failed at life because he couldn’t find enough love.
We chase money, thrills, and ego, but what is any of that without love? And not just love in the traditional sense, but for everything we do. To waste life chasing illusions that leave us empty is an awful way to live.
We bottle anger or fear, unable to forgive because of personal agendas and insecurity. We want to control instead of love.
I’ve been thinking about that conversation since the day he died and finally believe I have grown enough to let go of what’s been in my way. I will no longer fight empty battles for the sake of it. I will no longer hate in the name of public opinion. I will no longer judge someone before walking in their shoes.
It’s all pretty obvious and starts with love . . . of yourself.