In my car yesterday, on a drive to absolutely nowhere, I listened to the album Check Your Head by the Beastie Boys.

Halfway through the song “Gratitude”, my thoughts huddled around Adam Yauch who was in that group and died, from cancer of course, when he was just forty-seven.

Stopped at the next red light, images of his young unshaven face from those early MTV videos appeared to me clearly – as if by download. Then, after a bit of a buffering, my mind landed on this memory I have of walking under the marquee at Madison Square Garden which said something like, “Thank you Adam. You will never be forgotten.”

I think I was up in the City during that time and not down here in Florida because my dad was in the trenches of NYU Medical Center. Squaring off with the nastiest of cancers of course.

The light turned green, I put my foot on the gas, and this question arose: if Adam could come back to us right now, but only as a regular joe and not the stellarly successful “MCA” of the Beasties, would he?

Who’s to know.

Who’s to know.

Maybe he’d do anything to alleviate the sadness of his loved ones. Maybe he lived enough in those forty-seven years to fill forty-seven lifetimes.

My plan was to write about this yesterday but I decided against it. It’s always just the same old story out of me nowadays. So, I just let the idea float away. Float away into space with the other garbage my soul stumbles upon and collects.

But today I had lunch with my high school English teacher. The man who inspired me to write. My own personal O Captain My Captain.

He asked if I’ve been writing and I had to admit with a bit of shame, “I’m out of words. There’s just nothing new for me to say.’’

He understood.

And that’s really where this blog post ends. No fanfare. No fireworks. No fat lady. Just some self-reflection on life and on death and then we all return back to scrolling on our phones.

But wait. There’s more.

I told a few friends I had lunch with my high school English teacher and they responded with their own versions of, “He must be so proud of you!”

Me?

Proud of me?

Do you have me confused with somebody else?

My high school English teacher had students who are actually successful.

Successful in writing and in other important fields. And me…I’m just some guy who once pushed some words around like one of those people holding a broom when the circus ends.

Why don’t we just forget about him being proud, I’d just be relieved if he wasn’t embarrassed by me.

But Gabe, you wrote for a newspaper. You had a book published.

Thank you, but none of that means anything to anyone unless you have something to show for it.

And I have nothing.

The end.

~ GB

P.S. But wait. There’s more.

Now I know why I waited until tonight to write about this. In order to wake up. To wake up and remember.

Everything I just said about having nothing is an illusion spun by society.

Success is just an illusion. It’s all just an illusion. And I know this down to by bones. Down to the cells of my bones. To the atoms of those cells. To the particles of those atoms. Down to the spaces between those particles. And down even further than that. I may forget, like I did today, but I always remember.

I remember I am goodness. I remember I am justice. I am mercy. I am gratitude. I am forgiveness. I am love.

And that transcends success. It transcends time. It transcends death.

It even transcends separateness. Which means the person who is reading these words right now, is also the person who wrote them.