When I was 55, I took a Facebook quiz to find out at what age I would die. The results informed me that I would die at age 57. It didn’t even tell me what month or whether I’d die one day before my 58th birthday. I’m pretty sure the question that gives you a choice between Elvis Presley or Frank Sinatra somehow carries more weight than the rest of them. (Also, I have reason to believe that one of my answers gave the impression that I cared about what my corpse would look like. ) All things considered, I was just glad that Buddy Holly hadn’t been an option, or my death might have been retroactive.
I was actually kind of relieved to know the year of my death because for the first time, I could relax and just do what I wanted for the time I had left. I just wished I’d taken the quiz sooner. When I thought of all the valuable time and energy I’d wasted pretending to like people to keep a job, I just wanted to kick myself.
Armed with knowledge of the future, I planned to frolic, gambol, (not gamble) and rejoice for my remaining two years. I also planned to thoroughly enjoy the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth every minute of every day. Consequences schomsequences. Other plans included writing a book and riding my motorcycle to Argentina like Che Guevara did. Those quiz results really made it kind of a now-or-never proposition. I figured it would be wise to do the motorcycle trip first, in case I had some adventures I wanted to include in the book.
Even after months of searching, I couldn’t find anybody else who wanted to ride their motorcycle to Argentina, and I was forced to admit that I was too chicken to do it alone. That meant that any book I would write would probably be boring, so why bother? I’m still alive, but life is a little sadder and lonelier than before I took the quiz. Seems that constant truth-telling makes you the opposite of popular.
Here’s a link to the quiz so you can find out if you need to start living it up right now or whether you need to slow it down if you want to last another fifty or sixty years.