To Actually Live Before I Die

Time and mortality are the great levelers of life. It makes us all the same height when it strikes us. We all bend.  But then there are those who, metaphorically, slam their foot on the gas pedal and head, unyielding, maniacally towards their demise without the slightest glimpse at self preservation.
Jim Morrison comes to mind. He danced near the veil that separates life and death and courted the idea of crossing over. Of course, he was a man. He laughed, he loved and thought deeply. The only difference was that he was beautiful and in the public eye. In view of all who knew him or wanted to know him, he dove off of his life and into a casket-soul released and dancing.
We eventually will be alive a hell of a lot longer that we can ever live, and unless one is in a desperate situation that cannot be turned, why not live?
I was terrified of death. Then I lost my grandmother. We were extremely close and now she’s carried on. Of course, I started questioning my own mortality, the wasted minutes that I’ve spent. I’ll still avoid dying like the way a cat avoids a bath, accept now I know that when it does happen, I’ll be okay. Now, I would like to shelve the dying part. The gruesome fettering away of the mind and body, while the spirit fights to be buoyant in a withered, weighty vessel. I don’t want to go out by human stupidity-an oops moment. That would suck.
So now I want to really live. I’m not sure if I’m having a midlife crisis, I’m in mourning, I’m finally getting the big picture or all of the above. Whatever it is, I intend to do the opposite as Morrison or Belushi or any other revered person who went too fast and by their own recklessness.
I suppose there’s something to being too cautious. I seek balance. I seek the thrill that I felt in my younger days with the experience that I’ve collected up until now. I’m not going to say that I’m wise. My bank account is near empty, I have no job and I’m auditioning at almost 40 years old. But it’s the gamble that I’ve decided to take. This is me insanely jumping into waters with a depth that I’m unsure of.
Can this be the beginning of the proper steps that lead me to eat cat food in an 8×10 room of a condemned building? I seriously don’t think so. I have no children to carry on my legacy so it’ll have to be my art-my acting, my writing, my voice. It’ll be what is. That is my calling. I encourage you to follow yours because soon enough the curtain will drop, and don’t you want a standing ovation for your performance? I sure the fuck do.