Live a life without regrets
If we’re not careful, we chase the shadows and end up empty, alone, staring at the void we were born to dance with.
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We spend our lives chasing extra zeros in our bank accounts, dreaming of that perfect retirement nest where we can chase sunsets. We’ll be happy then, we swear.
We can start living then.
Right now, we’re willing to sacrifice the slow moments with our kids. We’re building a legacy, stamping our name and our company in the annals of history.
We throw thousands of dollars at supplements, creams, shrinks, medical procedures to extend our lives—all to avoid the one truth: death’s coming. But if we can just not think about it, maybe it’ll skip us.
Then suddenly we hit old age, retire. The first year’s relaxed—sweet, quiet. But soon, the restless anxiety in our souls bubbles up. Our minds are as anxious as they were in our 20s and 30s. We look at our lives and wonder—what did we miss? The anxiety is screaming louder now than ever.
Our families are dysfunctional. No meaningful relationship with our kids. Our grandkids? Hardly see them. First marriage? Wrecked. Second marriage? Total disaster. Friends? None that has wisdom.
And the thought of death, the one thing we avoided for decades, haunts us every night at 3:00 a.m.
Wasn’t the deal that if I bled my life dry, sacrificed my health, my family, my marriage, I’d get it all back at the end? Lies. The regrets come crashing in.
Take that 35-year-old who had a seizure mid-shopping. One moment normal, next a tumor pressing on her right front lobe (true story told by Paul Kalanithi).
Or Paul Kalanithi, a neurological surgeon and a postdoctoral fellow in neuroscience at Stanford. He got diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer and died 22 months after. Leaving behind his wife and 8-month-old daughter. He thought he had figured it all out and had prioritized what was most important to him. That was until his terminal diagnosis—everything changed (Listen to this week’s episode for his story).
Life’s a killer.
If we’re not careful, we chase the shadows and end up empty, alone, staring at the void we were born to dance with.
Remember, we’re tagged with a terminal illness: mortality. Mortality’s our curse—and our cure, if only we face it.
Till next week,
Peace!
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