I wish someone would’ve told me this sooner—so I’m going to take the opportunity to tell you.
Person whose consciousness is oddly separate from my own, who didn’t write this but is perfectly capable of reading it and making sense of it: life is absurd. And, I guess by that same token, magical. As I said in my very first post, I ramble.
Anyways—here we go.
Every single thing in your life is transient.
There, I said it.
You’re probably thinking to yourself, well yeah, duh. Allow me to add a little more context to help you really connect with what I mean. Because honestly, our experiences with things outside ourselves—especially those that don’t directly touch our doorstep—are often abstract. Our ability to truly internalize and deeply empathize is… lacking. (I speak from my own experience. Perhaps this isn’t true of you.)
Your health, your wealth, your family, your youth, your beauty, your agency, your children, your job—and every other single thing you weren’t born with—is transient. Including your actual life.
The sooner you realize that, and start living in appreciation of it, the better.
Most of us are raised to acquire. And after acquiring all the things we were told to want, we’re often left with an empty, hollow feeling inside. Like an insatiable spirit without identity, we try to fill that void by acquiring even more.
The average life expectancy hovers somewhere between 70 and 77 years, but we often live as though we have infinitely more time than that—pursuing things that ultimately mean nothing to us.
So in the very limited time we do have, I urge you to take the transient things that hold true meaning for you seriously.
Don’t waste another second thinking your 20s are for this, your 30s and 40s for that, and that when you hit your 60s and 70s, then you’ll do Y.
Many people are confronted by the harsh reality—sooner or later—that the things they thought they’d have forever weren’t untouchable. And what comes next is often a deep regret, wishing they hadn’t taken those things for granted.
Again, I speak from experience. I can tell you with 100% confidence: there is nothing worse than experiencing loss coupled with regret.
Dylan Thomas’ poem, Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night, urges us to rage against the dying of the light.
People say, live your life to the fullest.
We take for granted what that even means. We assume we know.
But what do you think it means?
Does it mean dressing up, eating whatever you want, drinking at your leisure?
No judgment—I’m just curious. What does it look like when you rage?
Whatever the case, here’s what I recommend.
Consider this like a prescription—written by someone presently gutted by grief and loss.
Your Health
If you lost it today—if you were diagnosed with an illness—what would you wish you had done while you were still healthy and capable?
Your Wealth
Life is full of surprises. Despite our best efforts, poverty can find us.
How are you in relation to what you own or earn? Are you prepared to lose it? What happens if you do?
Your Family
We’re often too busy chasing our goals and tell ourselves, I’ll get to Mom, my brother, my uncle later.
Don’t make that mistake. Get to them now. They might not be here tomorrow. And grief? It hurts more than I can explain.
While you have them, appreciate them. Ask them who they are instead of assuming. Don’t take things at face value—ask questions. Be genuinely interested in their existence. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
Your Youth
We all get older, and that’s fine—I don’t mind.
Your youth is currency. There’s so much a young person can do.
(And by the way, I think youth is a state of mind. I’ll probably consider myself young until I’m 65.)
Use those years wisely.
Your Beauty
This fades. My recommendation? Take care of and pamper yourself—but don’t get too attached. Don’t make your appearance your identity.
As far as we know, you didn’t even earn it—you just happened to be born that way. So yes, be grateful for it, but don’t worship it.
Your Agency
Old age, illness, accidents—a whole host of things can steal our agency.
Before that happens, try to prepare, not just for you but your family. And while you have it, please use it to create or improve something.
Your Children
If you have them—love them. Don’t compare them.
Enjoy every moment because they don’t last long.
And the hardest truth? There’s no written rule that a parent must die before a child.
Love your children like there’s no tomorrow. There are many who long for a child and may never have one. That’s its own kind of loss and I feel for you all so very deeply.
Your Job
We often make our jobs our identities. Don’t fall for it.
If your work gives you meaning and joy—go for it.
Otherwise, it might be best to see it for what it is.
Don’t use it as an excuse to not be with the people you love, or to skip the things that light you up.
You’ll regret it.
Your Life
Where I’m from, people say: “While man a plan, God a wipe.”
It means—while we’re making plans, God is wiping them away.
Whether you believe in God or not, the point remains: you’re not guaranteed tomorrow.
Try to be present and awake for your life—ensure that it means something to you. I understand that finding true meaning is hard, that’s ok, I personally think it begins with questioning.
I imagine there are countless other areas to touch on, so this list isn’t exhaustive.
And maybe these recommendations sound like horseshit to you—and that’s okay.
All I ask is that you come face-to-face with this truth:
Everything in your life—including your life—is impermanent.
Confront loss.
And while there’s not much I can say to prepare you for grief and its many manifestations,
I hope what I’ve written here might at least save you from regret—
a fate I wasn’t able to save myself from in this lifetime.
And if no one ever reads this, and reincarnation is real—
I hope I stumble upon this again someday.
So that I can learn to love intensely, to be present, and to be vulnerable with those I love—before it’s too late.
Enjoy the absurdity of the organized matter called you.
I hope that you love and are loved in return.
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