The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F_ck

CHAPTER 9
. . . And Then You Die
Seek the truth for yourself, and I will meet you there.”
That was the last thing Josh ever said to me. He said it
ironically, attempting to sound deep while simultaneously
making fun of people who attempt to sound deep. He was
drunk and high. And he was a good friend.
The most transformational moment of my life occurred
when I was nineteen years old. My friend Josh had taken me
to a party on a lake just north of Dallas, Texas. There were
condos on a hill and below the hill was a pool, and below the
pool was a cliff overlooking the lake. It was a small cliff,
maybe thirty feet high—certainly high enough to give you a
second thought about jumping, but low enough that with
the right combination of alcohol and peer pressure that
second thought could easily vanish.
Shortly after arriving at the party, Josh and I sat in the
pool together, drinking beers and talking as young angsty
males do. We talked about drinking and bands and girls and
all of the cool stuff Josh had done that summer since
dropping out of music school. We talked about playing in a
band together and moving to New York City—an impossible
dream at the time.
We were just kids.
“Is it okay to jump off that?” I asked after a while,
nodding toward the cliff over the lake.
“Yeah,” Josh said, “people do it all the time here.”
“Are you going to do it?”