The two of us embarked on an adventure into the Mississippi forest on a two-day runaway from the deadlines and the demands and the reality.
 The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylanrolled out of our open cabin windows and carried along with the fall leaves in the light breeze. A limited number of pots and pans and only two mugs— two we rinsed, washed and repeated time and again as we drank coffee and Kahlua and red wine and chardonnay — sat in the cabinets. I peeled and cored apples for the first time, and, swear it, food tastes better when your hands and effort contributed. The world of instant-gratification pulls you down. That is only clear when you stand on the edge of a boating dock and see that nothing stops the birds from migrating or the ducks from swimming. And that most of the items in our brains’ worry-compartments are just gross misuses of our short time being present.
 Two years ago on this date I faced near-death with seven of my best friends. Some of us have lost touch since then, but it’s a memory we share as a collective that shaped our worldviews in monumental ways. Despite our differences, we’ll always bond on that hung-over afternoon in Peoria, Ill., when an F4 tornado pulled our suburban and trailer full of musical equipment off of the interstate and into the sky, shattering the windows before dropping us in the face of halted on-coming traffic.
 Thank God that happened to me. It would be untruthful to say I think about how that afternoon shaped me every day, but I do remember it every few weeks or so — in conversations with Otherlands’ baristas or my grandparents, when I’m crossing the Southern train tracks or being hard on myself for failing an astronomy exam.
 About 20 feet off of the ground on that Sunday in 2013, I felt acceptance. But when you accept death and instead are granted a second-lease on life, it rattles your cage. How many people experience what I did? Do they put as much weight on it as I do? I like to think God looked down and said, “This experience will majorly manifest itself inside of you later on, but you’ve gotta learn to appreciate, babe.â€
 Perspective’s greatest reward is that it gets richer with every new experience. I have worked tirelessly to continually cut the shit. I am not very good at it. But I don’t believe I am alone in the fight. We all suffer from the same conflicts but we fight unique battles. We want to live well and do good and be good. But we are human, so sometimes we live bad and do bad and are bad. It’s an anecdotal, simplified worldview to some, but it’s what I not only see in myself but in my coworkers and in my professors and in my friends and in my family.
 Faint scars mark my armsfrom periods where I felt a deep inner-dissatisfaction with my decisions and myself. At various points in my life, I have said and done things to people that I regret. I find from talking to my mentors, that many combat regret with resentment as they age.I reject that as an option for myself.
 Power, cleansing and clarity grow from the ability to forgive yourself for the words and decisions you can’t change. But I wouldn’t have reached that point without the kind members of a Peoria, Ill., church taking seven strangers into their homes and showing them the love and grace that fueled their lives.
 As I continue to learn, this is what I have gained thus far: Nothing matters, but everything is of critical importance. On our deathbeds, our achievements and failures won’t matter, but it’s the moments that we showed and experienced love, compassion and empathy that will define our lives. I have learned to assign worth to the little things. The coffee and the unveiled conversations. Taking 10 minutes out of my evening to talk to my grandmother on the phone. Long evening walks through Cooper-Young, studying the architecture of the homes.
 For me, I’ve found fall — with the leaves changing and, me, like snake shedding skin — to be the most renewing of the seasons.
 No time of the year makes me realize how much I have to be grateful for than on Thanksgiving. In 2013 at Thanksgiving supper, still rattled from my run-in with Mother Nature, I looked at my Paw-Paw across the dinner table and thought to myself, “It’s all over so fast and this is all that matters.â€
 It’s more true to me now than ever. Cheers to the mistakes! If we haven’t always done the right thing, the errors serve as a series of learned experiences that will lead us to grow and do better the next time(s) around. Let us learn that our college degrees are useless if we do not live purposefully. It’s what we do and how we treat each other that matters. Let the chorus ring: I get knocked down, but I get up again.
 Best, friends, and do some good this week.Â
Joshua Cannon
 Follow Joshua Cannon on Twitter @JoshuaS7.
