It is only possible to live happily-ever-after on a day-to-day basis. – Margaret Bonnano

Have you ever bought a really expensive pair of shoes, wore them around the house, and waited for just the “perfect occasion” to take them out on the town to show them off? Were you worried you might scuff them the whole time? Did you yell at your husband when he accidentally stepped on them, leaving a mark only visible to your keen eye? Did they then stay in the box for ages until the next “perfect” occasion, safely hidden from your husband’s two left feet? By the time a year has passed, they have only been out for a spin a handful of times. What a shame.

Or how about a really nice bottle of wine. Or a $100 bottle of olive oil or vinegar that someone brought you as a gift. Do you save those bottles until just the “right” time, even if it’s only years later? Have you ever done that and found your nice bottle of wine has turned to vinegar?

I had an amazing couple over for dinner last year. Gabrielle and her husband, Roger. Gabrielle is a celebrated author and screenwriter. After having 5 children, she decided to get into screenwriting, and found herself winning multiple prizes, some even before she finished her American Film Institute screenwriting degree. She has published 5 books which have earned her even more prizes and accolades, has written for The New York Times and The Washington Post, and even became a regular blogger for the Huffington Post. She is a force to be reckoned with.

Or rather, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was a gift to the world whose candle was extinguished long before any of us were ready for it to be.

Gabrielle passed away last month after a 15 month battle with pancreatic cancer. And just to demonstrate the ferocity with which she lived and breathed in life, a few days before she passed, she was asked if she wanted to try another form of treatment. Despite the pain and barely being able to move, much less speak, she said yes, “I’m not ready to die yet.”

Two days later, she took her last breath. She may not have been ready, but her certainly body was. Her body was no match for the magnitude that was her soul.

Gabrielle was the kind of woman who spoke her mind. She made you want to be a better person, even if you had only just met her (which I only had twice). She made you want to impress her, though she could see right through any brown nosing (so you needn’t bother trying). She made you want to sit up taller, to laugh a little longer, and to read a little (or a lot more) on account of her intelligence. She was fun, incredibly charming, and so quick witted that you didn’t want to miss a beat (or admit that you had no idea what she was talking about for fear of disappointing her, though she probably couldn’t have cared less).

When Gabrielle came to dinner that night last year, she didn’t know she had cancer at the time. In fact, she wasn’t diagnosed until months later. As a hostess gift, she gave me and Ted a beautiful set of two purple candles she had purchased on her recent trip to a place I’m embarrassed to say I cannot remember (she was always traveling – Ted met her on safari in Africa in 2007). I told her I would save them for just the right occasion.

In no uncertain terms, she told me that was nonsense. There is no better occasion than the present moment. She gave me the advice not to hang onto things, but instead, to use them. That’s what we are meant to do with things.

Both struck and impressed by the conviction with which she gave me the advice, still, I didn’t light her candles that night (I already had some going in the candlesticks that could hold them). So I put them in the cupboard with all my other candles, and honestly, forgot about them. And her advice.

I didn’t break out my Manolo Blahniks from their box once this year. I saved the $100 bottle of balsamic vinegar that my friend Andrew got me for my birthday 2 years ago, only using it a few times when tomatoes were in season.

I didn’t take Gabrielle’s advice.

Gabrielle knew how to live life, so much so that she didn’t want to let go of it. And now she’s gone. And I’m left with her words echoing in my mind.

Last month, a few weeks after she passed away, I finally lit her candles. I let them burn until they were done. It wasn’t a special occasion. Or was it?

It was dinner. At our house. With Ted, and our dear friend (and Gabrielle’s dear friend too), Scott. It wasn’t fancy. It was just dinner. I think it was even leftovers (thankfully, Scott isn’t fussy). But it was special. Because it was a moment in my life. In our lives. Why does a special occasion only earn the title if it’s accompanied with some kind of “special” event? A wedding. A baby. A birthday. A holiday. Why can’t every moment be special? In fact, aren’t they?

And there is the truth: yes. All moments are special. They really are. It seems that for many of us, it’s only when death comes knocking on our doors that we finally decide to live. But death is coming for us all. We don’t know when it will call on us. And so we ignorantly go about our lives, thinking that we need to wait for a cancer diagnosis or some other clue that our death is near before we start enjoying the moments that string our lives together:

A nice cup of tea in the morning. Waiting patiently for our lunch to heat up, lost in thought (or Instagram). A mid afternoon stroll. A trip to the bank to deposit a check. A walk to the mailbox to mail a bill (three cheers for bill paying!). Sitting at our computers, answering emails. Watching a funny show on TV.

Why don’t we put on our mManolo’s to head out to the grocery store if we want to? Why don’t we use that $100 bottle of vinegar every day on our “boring” salads until it runs out? Why do we wait for the perfect moments and fail to recognize that every moment is perfect?

Today, decide that you will make every moment as special as Gabrielle knew every one to be. What have you been holding onto? What have you been saving for a special occasion? Break it out and use it today. Right now. Just do it. And when it’s gone, it’s gone. And you will have the gift of knowing how much you enjoyed it.

Isn’t that enough?

So go on. Let today be your happily ever after. And when you get up tomorrow, jump for joy that you get another day to do it all over again. Because as Norman Cousins says – and I’m sure Gabrielle would agree – “Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”

Your crazy friend,
Lauren