Last week, after I gave a talk in Texas, there was a line of people waiting to get books signed or to chat…one of the nice things about giving these talks. One woman was noticeably holding back…wanted to be last. When she got to the little desk, damned if she did not burst into tears.
Her husband, she said, had died very recently… “because he wouldn’t do what you’ve been talking about.” We talked for a while and it sounds as if what she said were quite right: he was in terrible shape and, sure enough, it killed him.
The books and my talks are deliberately light and cheerful. But as we occasionally say, we are deadly serious, Harry and I. This whole thing is deadly serious. Literally. So do it. And don’t kill yourself.