The words of Bob Dylan soothe me.  He, after all, is The Boss.  In his song “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” his finger plucking of the guitar, accompanied by the gentle wine of his harmonica, speak to me.  They fill the empty spaces in my heart.  It is an incredible feeling, to have someone you do not even know, someone whom you’ve never met, say exactly what fits your mood, your situation, your life. 

It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe

It don’t matter, anyhow

And it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe

If you don’t know by now

When your rooster crows at the break of dawn

Look out your window and I’ll be gone

You’re the reason I’m traveling on

Don’t think twice, it’s all right.

So long honey, babe

Where I’m bound, I can’t tell

Goodbye’s too good a word, babe

So I’ll just say fare thee well

I ain’t saying you treated me unkind

You could have done better but I don’t mind

You just kinda wasted my precious time

But don’t think twice, it’s all right.

Thank you, Mr. Dylan.  You do me a service by singing those words to me.  And what truth resides in your words.  You know, it makes one feel a hell of a lot less crappy when, even though you may have never felt more lonely, something makes you realize you really are not all alone.  Others have been, and are, in the same shit as you.  You may be in different places.  In a different time.  But you are not an island. 

Now, this may not sound of any consolation, but when you are in a place such as that which I am, you will take what you can get.  And you must.  It is pertinent.  It is the little things which will get you through.  Acknowledge them.  Appreciate them.  And when you do get better, into a happier place, out of the slump, don’t stop climbing.  Do not stop recognizing the glimmer of life’s subtleties.  It is finding value in the little things, which yeilds a happy life.  

A positive attitude attracts positive things.  I truly believe this.  I have been staying positive.  I can’t help but just cry sometimes, though.  I am carrying a certain lingering melancholy within me.  A gloom that stays hidden in my daily life.  It only comes out every once in a while, usually at times like now.  Times when I am alone in bed.  Times when my queen mattress feels as vast as a pontoon boat deck.  All around I roll, side to side, as the waves of emotion ebb and flow throughout me.  I take my over the counter sleeping medicine, and wait for it to kick in.  I wait for it to assist me in bidding adieu to this day, and bring about a fresher, newer, brighter day.  It passes.  I feel renewed as the sunshine creeps through the cracks in my blinds.  Then it is time to put on that smile again.  I reach for my cosmetics train case, and try to make myself feel pretty again.  

One time, about a year after I met him, he heard me say that I wanted gold Bucky Balls; those rare earth magnets you can make all kinds of fun shapes with.  The very next day, I got to work, turned on the light in my office, and there sat a brand new box of Bucky Balls in the precise color I had mentioned I liked.  I asked around, but no one knew where they had come from.  I started feeling like the little bird in Dr. Seuss’s “Are You My Mother?”  Then, I began to put two and two together.  They were from him.  After work that day, he drove to 3 different stores before calling 4 more, and finally found me the exact ones he knew I wanted.  He then went back to work that night, when the office was closed, and placed them just behind my keyboard for me to find in the morning.  His heart is pure as the gold on those damn magnets. 

This gift really struck a cord with me.  My great grandmother taught me about JB gifts.  No, not BJ gifts.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  JB gifts are gifts you give Just Because.  This tradition of my Mimi’s has never left me.  I think these are the best kind of gifts to give.  What better way to show someone you appreciate them, than to give them a gift when it isn’t required by society’s said standards?  Give them a gift when they aren’t expecting it.  If you haven’t done this, do.  They are contagious.  Despite the inevitable outcome of sounding like a hippie, spread the love man!  I think I fell in love with him a little that day.  And within the tiny clear plastic box filled with golden rare earth magnets, he gave me a little bit of his heart too.

“They are the hunters, we are the rabbits.  And maybe we don’t want to be found.”

Maybe none of us want anyone tracking us down.  We keep so much to ourselves, and perhaps share bits and pieces with our closest friends (if we are lucky enough to have them).  We, as a whole, are private people.  Insecure beings.  And when we open ourselves up, we are begging for attention.  Don’t take it as an insult.  We all need it.  We all need people in our lives to make us feel value.  Very few of us can contently live a life of solitude.  And I do not think we are meant to.  We are social beings.  Meant to interact.  Meant to love.  Meant to talk.  Meant to hurt from broken hearts.  Meant to cringe over our own embarrassment. Meant to elate upon learning of our loved ones’ successes.  This is living, and if we are not willing to absorb the pain and negative emotions then we do not deserve, nor are we prepared for, all of the glorious times that life can provide.  That’s right.  I said glorious.  It is such a great word.  Everyone should use it much more often than it is exercised.  The bottom line is that life is about feeling.  No matter if it is extremely great, or immensely devastating.  One way or another we are living, and that is a gift.  If everyone could learn to grow from their experiences, we would be a whole hell of a lot smarter.  We would be much more adventurous, and spontaneous.  Life is here.  The world is ours.  Things are happening all around us, and so long that we are dwelling in the sorrow of our own personal tragedies (which we illuminate, and make so much more severe than they really are) we will stay on the same plane.  No lateral nor upward motion.  Stagnant.  What a waste.  

One morning, well after I was diagnosed with cancer, I got an email from Robbee Kosak, Carnegie Mellon’s vice president for advancement.  She told me a story.

She said she had been driving home from work the night before, and she found herself behind a man in a convertible.  It was a warm, gorgeous, early-spring evening, and the man had his top down and all his windows lowered.  His arm was hanging over the driver’s side door, and his fingers were tapping along to the music on his radio.  His head was bobbing along, too, as the wind blew through his hair.

Robbee changed lanes and pulled a little closer.  From the side, she could see that the man had a slight smile on his face, the kind of absentminded smile a person might have when he’s all alone, happy in his own thoughts.  Robbee found herself thinking: “Wow, this is the epitome of a person appreciating this day and this moment.”

The convertible eventually turned the corner, and that’s when Robbee got a look at the man’s full face.  ”Oh my God,” she said to her self.  ”It’s Randy Pausch!”

She was so struck by the sight of me.  She knew that my cancer diagnosis was grim.  And yet, as she wrote in her email, she was moved by how contented I seemed.  In this private moment, I was obviously in high spirits.  Robbee wrote in her email: “You can never know how much that glimpse of you made my day, reminding me of what life is all about.”

I read Robbee’s email several times.  I came to look at it as a feedback of sorts.

It has not always been easy to stay positive through my cancer treatment.  When you have a dire medical issue, it’s tough to know how you’re really faring emotionally.  I has wondered whether a part of me was acting when I was with other people.  Maybe at times I forced myself to appear strong and upbeat.  Many cancer patients feel obliged to put up a brave front.  Was I doing that, too?

But Robbee had come upon me in an unguarded moment.  I’d like to think she saw me as I am.  She certainly saw me as I was that evening.

Her email was just a paragraph, but it meant a great deal to me.  She had given me a window into myself.  I was still fully engaged.  I still knew life was good.  I was doing OK.

Randy Pausch, The Last Lecture

Rest in Peace.  Thank you for teaching us how to live.