Sometimes, you can just be going along, doing something you've done hundreds of times before, and suddenly you are not around anymore. It can happen. It happens many times every day. It could even happen when you are reading something on the internet, for example. Granted, it's more likely to occur, if that thing that you've done so many times before is sitting alone in a motel room shooting heroin, but it can happen any time.
Suppose that you have lived the equivalent of many peoples' lifetimes in a relatively short time. You have accomplished much and overcome even more, yet you feel that you are only just reaching your potential.
One day, you complete a day of work in the recording studio. You sing an a cappella song called Mercedes Benz. It is the ninth in a set of excellent tracks you've already completed. You have finally found the right group of musicians, a producer you like and respect, and one who reciprocates those feelings. Everything is falling into place. Soon, maybe tomorrow, you plan to revisit the studio to lay down the vocals for a tenth song called, "Buried Alive In The Blues." You really like the instrumental track that's already been recorded.
"Buried Alive In The Blues" will become a part of your most successful release ever. A set of songs that is destined to echo in the world of music far into the future. It may be timeless. Many will consider it your finest work; although, who knows what the future may bring? You are in the middle of something great, something that you will never see come to full fruition, although your absence will not impede its ascension.
There are two big lessons to take from this. They are both nearly impossible yet vital missions.
1) Don't be like Janis Joplin.
2) Be like Janis Joplin.
