Enjoy Every Sandwich

this captivating subtitle I wrote really makes you want to read it, doesn’t it?!?

Warren Zevon appeared on The Late Show with David Letterman in October of 2002.

I drew my remembrance of the appearance below. (Apologies to Dave, who has been rendered here in a way that kind of makes him look like Richard Nixon. This was not intentional, but here we are. I’m still learning.)

Zevon had appeared on Letterman’s show many times through the years …

… but this time was different. Zevon knew he was going to die.

He was walking through the final days of a diagnosis with terminal cancer.

What could’ve been deeply unsettling instead became something deeply compelling. Something that has remained with me for years. The two talked about music and family, but also life and death. It was all somehow beautiful and human and … also funny and incredibly moving. All at once.

This part of their exchange has stuck with me probably every day since:

Dave: From your perpsective now, do you know something about life and death that maybe I don’t know now?
Warren: Not unless I know how much … how much you’re supposed to enjoy every sandwich.

Warren:
You put more value on every minute. You do. I mean I always thought I kind of did that. I really always enjoyed myself, but it’s more valuable now. You’re reminded to enjoy every sandwich and every minute of playing with the guys and being with the kids and everything.

I’d just finished re-reading (this time listening) to Jason Zinoman’s book on Letterman. My Youtube algorithm has been, wonderfully, feeding me classic Letterman clips. Last week, this clip snuck up on me from a different angle (and this time with an actual sandwich in my hand).

During a quick layover on my way home from a speaking engagement, I was sitting in a terminal. Traveling from Canada to Nashville. Happy to have had the work. Grateful for the experience. Anxious about upcoming work. Tired. Worried about all sorts of things. Laughing at a picture Kristi sent me from the kids. Hungry.

I bought a sandwich.

It was not a great sandwich.

Soggy and overpriced and maybe “food'“? (not sure) … it was what was available.

I thought of Warren’s words. It hit me that maybe he didn’t necessarily mean every sandwich is going to actually be great. Some sandwiches are bad. They just are. Some days will be a challenge, too. There will be disappointments. Hurts. Things that simply aren’t at all what we hoped they would be.

I don’t think the answer is to pretend everything is wonderful.

Maybe I’ve been hearing Zevon’s words a little differently lately. Against the backdrop of lots of good, but so many uncertainties and challenges, I find myself forgetting the point.

The goal might not be to exactly enjoy every sandwich. Some sandwiches are just straight up trash. Maybe the goal is to notice that you’re eating one.

That’s enough.

Life is strange. Twenty-four years ago a dying rock-and-roll star said something weird and funny on television. Last week I was in an aiprort eating a bad sandwich wondering if maybe I’ve finally understood what he meant.

Take a bite. Taste it. You’re here.

1. hire me to speak.
2. buy a book.
3. send this to a friend.