Life
This week, we lost some towering figures. Legends. Men who defined music, television, and American culture. Ozzy Osbourne — the wild prince of metal. Hulk Hogan — the immortal icon of strength. Malcolm-Jamal Warner — a face many of us grew up with, full of youth, warmth, and wit.
Three very different men. Three very different deaths. But all share one undeniable truth:
They were human. And they died.
That reality has me shaken, if I’m honest. It’s not just the loss of talent or nostalgia — it’s the confrontation with my own mortality. I just turned 65. And suddenly I realize… the ride doesn’t go on forever. Maybe I’ve got 10 good years. Maybe 20, if fate is kind. But there is now more time behind me than ahead.
Why Do We Treat Celebrities Like They’re Immortal?
When someone famous dies, it rattles us more than we expect. Why?
Because we project immortality onto them. They’re larger than life. They’re voices on the radio, faces on the screen, stories in our childhood. They’re consistent. Permanent. Unchanging.
Until they’re not.
Ozzy’s death might be linked to the abuse he put his body through. Hulk’s, maybe just the weight of age and time. Malcolm’s, reportedly a tragic accident. Three different causes. Same destination.
And suddenly, we’re reminded: Oh… this life? It’s fragile. It’s fleeting. Even for the people we thought couldn’t be touched.
What Are We Doing With Our Time?
It makes you ask the hard questions.
- Am I really living, or just existing?
- How much time have I wasted worrying about people who don’t matter?
- What have I left unsaid, uncreated, unloved?
Because the truth is, life doesn’t care about fame. It doesn’t reward followers, money, or likes with extra years. It just… ends. Sometimes slow. Sometimes fast. But always final.
And all we get to decide is what we do between now and then.
So Let This Be a Wake-Up Call
If you’re reading this, you still have time. Time to fix that broken relationship. To create something beautiful. To take that damn trip. To say I love you while the person’s still around to hear it.
You don’t need to be Ozzy, or Hulk, or Malcolm to matter. You don’t need to be famous to be remembered.
You just need to live — really live — while you still can.
Because in the end, the only thing worse than dying…
is never having really lived.
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Let me ask you this:
If you had 10 years left, what would you stop waiting for?
That’s the rant this week. And maybe the beginning of something more.