That is a tough one. The more I think about it, the tougher it becomes.
The rub for me is that "not suffering from an infirmity" would constitute cheating on my part. So I couldn't bring the sort of vigor and resilience to bear on the situation as I would like ... so that nixes any ideas of exotic travel, extreme sports or wild spending sprees.
I like Rambi's answer in principle, but as my offspring are 2 and 4 I would only be able to do woefully little in the allotted year. I would die not knowing the answer to the Great Question: Are my children people of honor? (To those who are pondering the Obvious Question, I can only reply: while I fully trust that Spouse would see to the proper discharge of that question, it's conceivable that she would die after me but too soon before the kids' majority. Having children means to embrace risk.)
I would also agree with the post about leaving a minimum of messes behind. I'd see to it that my family would inherit no avoidable debts, liabilities or other white elephants upon my death.
Perhaps the only deliberate change of behavior I would pursue touches upon my Home Depot vignette. I would say "to hell!" with grocery-store etiquette (and simultaneously grab my enormous social insecurity by the horns) and start a random conversation with any checkout-line fellow inmate who had any spark of ... uh, "spirit" for lack of a better word, in her face. The current Grave Threat of carrying an embarrassing moment to my grave (sic!) in silent shame would be defused by knowing that the silent shame will be expunged in less'n one year.
...No sense telling him about the bats though. He'll see them soon enough, the poor bastard.*
* For those who think they recognize the passage, it's as close as I can remember to a fragment of the opening diatribe in Hunter S. Thompson's gonzo opus, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. |
