As much as I love the thrill of the new, I know that life also requires a degree of stability. And so, to some extent, I live in my own little world that I've worked hard to create.

I have my career which affords me a degree of comfort. I have my sanctuary of a conveniently located apartment, that fills with sunlight during the day, and gives me a view of the moon and the city skyline at night. I have close circles of loyal and true friends, as well as extended circles of interesting and eclectic people whom I also consider dear.

When my work days finish, my life is a long blur of dinners and drinks with friends and launch parties and special events and bands and dancing in clubs and cocktails on rooftops and plans for weekend escapes. And sometimes, I have the quiet night at home, alone. Sometimes I have more "serious relationships", sometimes I match my date to my plans for the evening. And when I sleep, it's often blissful and filled with dreams.

It's not a bad life at all. But sometimes it's a blur and I have to sort out the chronology of past events based upon memories of where I was working or whom I was dating.

And because of that, it sometimes feels like it falls into it own ruts and routines. I try to savor and appreciate it all as much as possible, but once something feels routine, it's easy to take it for granted.

...

And then roughly a month ago, a friend called me late at night while I was out with friends in a basement bar. It didn't seem like a normal time for her to call, so I stepped outside to hear what she had to say.

The husband of an old friend of ours had gone into the hospital for pains in his side, thinking he had kidney stones. Instead, they found cancer in his liver and spleen. As more information was gathered, the news kept going down.

I would send texts asking for updates, but the responses were never good, and came with more of a mixed sense of resignation and shock.

And these text exchanges over the past few weeks have also become part of my routine. And it has been something that persists in my mind as I've been passing through everything else.

Just a couple days ago, it was announced that by the end of the week, he would be doing his final dialysis and final transfusions. Only one day ago, it was announced that this weekend he would go home for a final house party, before checking into a hospice.

If I'd had a little more forewarning, I'd be on a flight to New Orleans now. But that's the whole point: sometimes we just don't get the time that we want or need.

Just a month ago, he was mostly healthy and thought maybe he had kidney stones. Now, they are counting down his final remaining days.

Final. Remaining. Last. Game over. And this is how it ends for someone not even out of his thirties. And then there's the loss to his wife and family and friends.

...

Life can be unexpectedly short. And this is where we get reminded to savor even the little things we do have.