Reflections -When Did We Stop Living and Start Existing?
What would matter in your final days?
There is a question that quietly follows many of us through life.
Most of the time it stays in the background, hidden beneath work, responsibilities, routines and obligations.
Then one day it shows up.
Maybe during a sleepless night.
Maybe after a health scare.
Maybe while sitting alone with a cup of coffee.
Maybe while noticing the years seem to be flying by a little faster than they used to.
The question is simple.
Is this it?
Not because life is bad.
Not because life has been a failure.
But because somewhere deep down we start to wonder if we’ve mixed up existing with actually living.
For most of our lives we are handed a roadmap.
Work hard.
Get a job.
Pay the bills.
Be responsible.
Raise a family.
Save for the future.
There is nothing wrong with any of those things.
In fact, they matter.
The problem is that while we’re busy getting ready for life, life itself quietly keeps moving.
One day becomes one year.
One year becomes ten.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
And before we know it, we’ve become really good at responsibility but a little out of practice when it comes to freedom.
We become very good at getting by.
But have we learned how to really live?
Many people spend their lives waiting for permission.
Permission to travel.
Permission to create.
Permission to start something new.
Permission to rest.
Permission to be themselves.
Permission to say no.
Permission to change direction.
Permission to finally do the things they have always wanted to do.
The strange thing is that the permission rarely arrives.
No letter comes through the door.
No announcement is made.
No official ceremony takes place.
Life simply goes on.
Waiting.
The years pass.
The responsibilities change.
The opportunities come and go.
And still many people wait.
Waiting for the perfect time.
Waiting for more money.
Waiting for more confidence.
Waiting until the children are older.
Waiting until retirement.
Waiting until things settle down.
Waiting for a future that never quite shows up.
Perhaps the biggest illusion of all is believing that life begins later.
What if later is just another word for never?
What if the life we’re waiting to start is already happening?
What if the future version of ourselves, the one who finally has enough time, enough money and enough freedom, never actually shows up?
These are uncomfortable questions because they force us to look at how we spend our days.
Not our ambitions.
Not our intentions.
Our days.
Because our days become our years.
And our years become our lives.
Imagine for a moment that you’re looking back from the final chapter of your life.
Not from a place of fear.
Not from a place of regret.
Just honesty.
What would matter?
Would you remember the things you owned?
Would you remember the emails you answered?
The meetings you attended?
The arguments you won?
The money you accumulated?
Maybe.
But somehow it feels unlikely.
More likely we’d remember moments.
A journey.
A conversation.
A place we stumbled across by accident.
A risk we took.
A sunset we stopped to watch.
A person we loved.
A story that changed us.
A day when we felt truly alive.
Maybe that’s why so many people reach a certain age and start asking different questions.
Not:
“How much do I have?”
But:
“How much have I experienced?”
Not:
“What have I achieved?”
But:
“What memories have I created?”
Not:
“What am I saving for?”
But:
“What am I waiting for?”
Maybe the purpose of life isn’t to arrive safely at the end with everything carefully preserved.
Maybe it’s to take part.
To explore.
To learn.
To create.
To connect.
To experience.
To stay curious for as long as possible.
None of us know how many years we have.
But maybe the more important question is this:
If today became a memory, would it feel like a day that was truly lived or just a day that was survived?
Because one day, whether we like it or not, we’ll all look back.
And when that moment comes, the question may not be:
“How long did I live?”
It may be:
“How much of life did I truly experience?”