I was dead last month. Call it a burn out. Or galloping combustion.

I was living my life outside me.

You could be dead too. It doesn’t take a cardiac arrest or

a thousand carcinogenic rogue cells to consume you.

To be dead is to live a life where somebody’s got you on auto.

Your choices have been impounded.

You’re dead because you’re wallowing in the fear of failure.

If you want to live, screw fear.

Want to be happy? Screw Christmas cards and gifts. And friends.

Happy comes from reinventing your reality. Taking the plunge. Taking risks.

And not taking any prisoners.