I was exhausted last night as I shuffled onto the plane in the dark amid the sleety rain in Michigan.

I shoved one bag under the seat in front of me, another above me, and gingerly took my seat where I slept like a tranquilized boar for two hours.

When I awoke, I had a pleasant conversation with the young man beside me -- Brian.  Brian is around 30 and works at Sewell.  Begun in 1911, Sewell is a very values-based car company, "And we really believe in it.  For us, it's not just talk."  We visited for over an hour and, somewhere along the way, quite nonchalantly, Brian commented, "I have brain cancer.  See this scar?"  (It ran from ear to ear, across the top of his fuzzy skull, and was easily 3/4" wide and almost 3/8" deep.)  "I've finished seven weeks of radiation and now I'm in chemotherapy."

"Wow.  And you're working?  And travelling?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah.  What else am I gonna do?  I'm tired all the time, sure, but we gotta keep moving forward, right?  Plus, we just had a huge meeting in Detroit with GM."

"What's your prognosis, Brian, if you don't mind my asking."

"That's God's call, not mine.  I can only do what the doctors suggest.  After that, it's out of our hands."

It is indeed, Brian; it is indeed.

As we parted ways, he shook my hand.  "It was nice visiting with you, Blake."

"You, too, Brian.  You, too."

And with that, I watched him stride toward the front of the plane.  Along the way, he helped a businesswoman remove her very heavy bag from the overhead bin.  She was jabbering away on her cell phone, complaining to someone back in her office, "I simply will not work for that amount of money.  You can tell him I said so."  She never made eye contact with Brian and didn't say a word to him.  Not even a 'thanks.'  But he smiled and kept moving forward.   

As if the billions who preceded us are insufficient signposts, God repeatedly sends emissaries carrying more 'perspective' our way.   

No one promised you another day.  Make this one count. 

Oh, and another thing.  A couple personal favors, really.  One, remember to say "Please" and "Thank you."  It's just mannerly, okay?  And two, stay off the phone when you're in confined spaces.  We didn't call you and, frankly, we'd rather avoid the assault.

I noticed the Michael Jackson autopsy the other day.

You know what my impression was?  How small we are.

In the end, we simply leave these husks that we occupied for so long...and in the case of Mr. Jackson, we are reduced to an accounting of scars, tattoos, chemicals, and sundry measures. 

136 pounds.  Can you imagine?  So tiny. 

If we're not careful, we can make too much of ourselves, no?  Sure, the Jackson estate will generate $100,000,000 in new revenue in the next 12 months...but the progenitor is gone. 

Throughout the course of our lives, we are this, that, and the other thing.  We may build fortresses, armaments, or empires.  But in the end, it's all just rubble held together by water and sand.

This past weekend, our precious daughter drew two pictures, the first a toothy chipmunk, the latter a trumpeting elephant.  Despite my bias, each is irrefutably adorable: Chipmunk&Elephant.pdf (71.63 kb)

Let's make a pact: We shall not take ourselves too seriously, however serious our work.

After all, we're just moms and dads and kids and nephews and sisters-in-law and whatever.  We may dedicate ourselves to great causes, or hope to leave legacies for our children, or aspire to contribute something timeless...or to make a mark, leave a dent, achieve. 

But while Billie Jean will echo through time, as we all hope to, it's just notes in the wind. 

Here today, faded tomorrow.

Make the moments -- every single one of them borrowed -- the very best you can.

The announcement by GM yesterday that, in effect, "Saturn is dead" is a tough, tough blow for many.  Not just employees and their families, but customers and so many others who developed an affinity for the little-brand-that-tried-but-just-couldn't.

I remember all too well studying Saturn in 1988 as a Case Study.  Just three years old then, it held so much promise: to be union free, to be collaborative, to be lean, to offer no-haggle pricing.

It really did aspire to be different and to survive outside the GM solar system.  But in the end, it proved to be entirely unprofitable.  It was mostly "all show, but no go."  The hype proved incongruent to the product.

The many reasons for its demise are clear to anyone who's been paying attention, but I'm certain GM's Saturn will be as infamous a Case Study as Johnson & Johnson's Tylenol.

My focus for today, therefore, is hardly to flog such a valiant effort on a ruthless industry battlefield.  (It'd be akin to picking on an airline, where survival is victory.)  After all, there are far too many cynics and observers who host rock-throwing parties in glass houses. 

No, instead, I simply wish to remind you that you are not the sum of your employment.  Not at all.

For the many who remain unemployed this day, or who will be in short order -- be it from Saturn or wherever else -- you are much more than your employment.

You are a human being, potential incarnate, and I lift you up today.

Keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Remember, it's not how many times you get knocked down, it's how many times you stand up.

As Bruce Lee used to say, "Walk on."