‘Here’ and ‘Now’ are my answers to life’s pressing questions

Choose your myth and live it with passion!"

I forget who said that, but the quote sticks with me. It means that, in the end, we can't know that we know absolute truth and absolute right. We can't know that we know which direction to head. In the end we pick. We choose. We shape our vision of what is real and true, valuable and meaningful, and we start walking toward it. We don't look back. We can't.

Have you picked your myth yet? Silly question. Of course you have. A human being cannot not have a world view. I mean to ask whether you are conscious and intentional about the myth you are living.

I am.

I'm living in dog years. You know how they say that one year in a dog's life is equal to seven years in the life of a human being? Just a favorite metaphor of mine these days. I mean by it that, more than ever before, my life has a sense of urgency. An acuity. I've never been more wide awake.

I don't mean panic or frenzy. It's not Chicken Little running around saying, "The sky is falling!" And I don't mean hurry up. And I don't mean get busy, achieve things, acquire things or make a name for myself.

I mean to say I'm very clear that there are really only two pressing questions: "Where am I?" and "What time is it?"

I'm equally clear that those questions have but two meaningful answers: "I'm here" and "It's now."

Now is the time to love. Now is the time to experience. Now is the time to show up. To risk. To be present. In Thornton Wilder's play "Our Town," the protagonist Emily asks, "Does anybody really live life while they live it?" And the stage manager lights his pipe, scratches his chin and ruminates: "Oh, a few. Poets and saints maybe. Nobody else."

I'm glad Mr. Wilder left two doors open, because I'd recommend you not hold your breath for me to become a saint anytime soon. But lucky for me, I am a poet. And like most poets, I'm a romantic and an idealist. I know that truth and beauty exist, and I will find them or die trying. That's my myth, anyway, and I'm sticking with it.

I believe in true love. I've had brushes with it. But here's something they never tell you about true love: It takes you apart. It requires that we tolerate discomfort and suffering. It is profound, yes, but also a holy terror. Very few people on this planet will choose it, because it requires uncommon courage and an ongoing commitment to grow a depth of self strong enough to bear the weight of profundity and joy.

See, if you want to find yourself, you have to lose yourself. But the paradoxical madness is this: Only really strong, solid human beings can "lose themselves" in love. It's easier to keep your heart as an artifact, a museum piece in a vault with a 24-hour armed guard. With any luck, you can get to your grave with no one really knowing you, no one really seeing you, no one ever hurting you.

If this is your myth, you probably use words such as "safe" and "sensible" and "mature" to describe your way of life.

The more passionately I embrace my myth, the more I find people and relationships falling simply, easily and sometimes brutally into three categories:

* First, there are folks. To be in this group, all you have to do is breathe and be absent malice for me. I like folks, from the stranger whose eyes I meet with a smile at the airport, to the countless aquaintances, colleagues, friends and family members whose company I seek and enjoy.

* Then there is my Inner Circle. Here my expectations rise sharply and without apology. Wanna be close to me? Then be prepared to be cherished. To laugh a lot. To be bathed in my encouragement, loyalty and optimism. But, be warned -- you can also expect rigor.

Wanna be close to me? Really? Then tell the truth, be radically willing to look at yourself, own your own (expletive) and show up to do the work of intimacy.

If it means anything to you, I'll never ask you for anything I'm not prepared to deliver in spades. Yes, my expectations are high, but I have exactly the same expectations of myself.

* The third group is called Please Go Away and Leave Me Alone.

That's it. That's my myth. What's yours?

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal.com.