If there’s a definition of freedom, I think it’s this: living life on your terms.

If there’s a definition of freedom, I think it’s this: living life on your terms. And Werner was the freest man I’ve known. I miss him terribly. Outside the cottage, rain. I close my eyes, listen to it, and imagine him sitting across from me. “I’m sorry, man,” I say.

“Ah,” he waves his hand at me. Smiling. “Let it go.” We’re both quiet for a little bit. “Reach out to Siv once in a while,” he says, “and Ice.” Siv, his wife. Ice, his dog. Rain picks up, drums on the roof. He smiles, slow. “But they’ll be gone too.” Long pause. “And you. Life, it is quick.” Life is long, a chain of intertwining moments, looping round and round. But life is short. Blinks. Memories. Connections. Then you’re gone.

The truth: I live my days as if I will live forever. Putting off so much, expecting there to be more time, another chance. If I accepted my mortality to my core, never knowing when the chain snaps, then how would I live? More on my terms. A free man. I’d write more, I’d love more, I’d laugh more. Can I succeed at it, this way of living? I don’t know. But I will remind myself daily: I am mortal. I will feel gratitude for it. For another opportunity to be here, to live and love and hurt and play and create and make good and bad decisions. Life. I have a hunch that my journey, however long it plays out, shall be better for it. Thank you, Werner

Live Your Truth