“My work won’t be finished until I’m dead and buried, and I hope it’s a long, long time,” John Lennon says to an interviewer.

Five hours and four bullets later, his work is finished.

Exactly 30 years later, the loss is still painful to me. An act of a single distorted individual – and a perfect metaphor for how crudely dysfunctional the humankind really is. A brilliant, contradictory, outspoken voice – extinguished.

But there is more to this than the crudeness and the loss.

The music remains. The story remains.

We’ve learned something.

What’s the lesson? The old and true “live your life as if every day is your last”? Is it really possible?

Perhaps another way to put it is: live your life so you make enough of a difference. Just enough so some distorted individual might want to kill you.

I don’t want anyone to be killed. But may we learn how to take more risks for the good cause, in our work and in our life.

And may John Lennon sing and think and talk and imagine in peace, because I don’t think he’s ready to rest.

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