On Saturday, I drove over 250km to Kagadi. Not for a wedding. Not for a political rally. But for the burial of a man who lived 100 years and shook the very ground he walked on.

By the look of things, the entire district of Kagadi and Hoima closed shop. Over 5,000 people. Ranked and unranked. Big men and nobodies. They all showed up. Not for a concert. Not for money. But to bury a man. That is how powerful he was in life. And yet, he still bowed.

That is the irony. Death doesn’t respect influence. It doesn’t care about age. It doesn’t ask for your CV. Death is the only true democracy. The mighty and the powerless, the rich and the broke, the famous and the unknown, all must sign the same attendance book.

This man lived fully. A century of laughter, power, mistakes, victories, family, and legacy. He had lived. But when the curtain call came, even he had to take the final bow.

I say this not to mean it was good he died. Far from it. I say this because, however invisible you think you are, however high you rise, the rules of life are unbendable. Even the untouchable must eventually touch the ground.

So why the sleepless nights? Why the endless worry about who said what? Why the race to prove yourself to people who will all one day stand on the same ground, facing the same end?

Take life easy, show up, do your work, love deeply, light clean, and rest often. For in the end, everything works out, sometimes in ways beyond your comprehension.

The mighty fall. The weak fall. We all fall. The only question is: will people close shop to honor your journey when you do?

Mr. Strategy