I could be hit by a Sara Lee truck tomorrow. Which is not a bad

The words of Richard Simmons, “I could be hit by a Sara Lee truck tomorrow. Which is not a bad way of going: ‘Richard Simmons Found in a Freeway in Pound Cake and Fudge, With a Smile on His Face.’ Let’s face it. We don’t know anything,” come to us wrapped in humor, but beneath the laughter rests a truth older than empires. The ancients too spoke of mortality, of fate’s unpredictable hand, of the way life may be cut short in the blink of an eye. Simmons, with jest and wit, speaks to the eternal paradox: we live as though tomorrow is promised, yet tomorrow is but a shadow that none can grasp.

The image of a truck of cakes and fudge is both comic and profound. For what is it but a reminder that death comes in unexpected forms, sometimes tragic, sometimes absurd, and sometimes even sweet? Simmons embraces this uncertainty with lightness, suggesting that even in the end, one might be remembered with a smile on his face. This is no small lesson. It is the wisdom of turning fear into laughter, of facing the unknowable not with trembling, but with mirth and acceptance. The ancients would call this courage of the soul—the ability to smile at the abyss and still walk forward.

History offers us many such examples. Consider the tale of Socrates, condemned to drink the hemlock. Even as he faced death, he jested with his friends, asking that a rooster be sacrificed to Asclepius, the god of healing, as though death itself were a kind of cure. Like Simmons, Socrates knew: “We don’t know anything.” We do not know why fate takes the young before the old, why the mighty fall while the frail endure, or why joy and sorrow often walk hand in hand. In his humor, Simmons joins the chorus of those who have, through laughter, revealed the futility of fear.

The words also echo a deeper truth about the impermanence of life. One moment, we are walking the streets, filled with dreams and burdens; the next, fate might sweep us away like leaves in a storm. But Simmons’s teaching is that we need not despair in this uncertainty. Instead, we may adorn it with humor, as a cloak against the cold winds of inevitability. For to laugh at death is to live freely, without chains of dread. To smile in the face of the unknown is to claim victory over the fear that steals so much from the living.

Let us not mistake the jest for emptiness. There is wisdom in the absurd. Just as the Fool in ancient courts could speak truths the wise dared not utter, so Simmons, with his playful imagery of pound cake and fudge, reminds us that no matter how serious life appears, its end may come with ridiculous suddenness. Thus, the teaching is simple: cherish this moment, for we do not know when it shall be our last. Let not pride, anger, or despair consume the days, for those days may be fewer than we dream.

The lesson to be carried forward is this: live with joy, live with courage, live with lightness. Do not hoard your laughter for another time, for another time may never come. Speak the words of love while the ears to hear them still remain. Share the bread, the smile, the forgiveness, before the curtain falls. If death is certain, let life be full. And if fate may strike us down tomorrow, then let today be radiant with meaning.

As a practice, rise each morning and whisper to yourself: “I do not know what this day holds. But I will live it fully.” In this way, you honor the mystery without fearing it. Find humor in hardship, find sweetness in sorrow, find courage in uncertainty. For if the end comes suddenly, whether by Sara Lee truck or silent breath in sleep, you may be found with a smile, like Simmons imagined—one who met the unknown not with trembling hands, but with laughter in the soul.

So remember, O child of the future: we don’t know anything. And it is in that very not-knowing that life’s beauty lies. To embrace the uncertainty is to embrace life itself. Walk boldly, laugh freely, and let your smile be the banner you raise against the darkness of the unknown.