Some days, the only thing separating me from the old version of myself is the constant weight of 24/7 headaches and the quiet gaps where memories should be. On the outside, I can look the same. On the inside, a “normal” day is often layered with anxiety, frustration, amplified emotions, and the feeling of being overwhelmed by things that once came effortlessly.
I’ve accepted that my life no longer resembles what it used to be. But acceptance doesn’t mean I live in the past. I don’t spend my days longing for who I was. Instead, I’ve come to see life through a different lens.
Everyone has a shelf life. None of us are getting out of this alive.
If we were given the privilege of seeing our life’s timeline laid out in front of us—if we knew exactly how many days we had left—I think something would shift. I believe we would stop obsessing over what we’ve lost, what we lack, or what didn’t turn out the way we planned. We would start focusing on something far more important: significance.
We would ask ourselves how to spend the days we have left in a way that matters. How to use whatever gifts, talents, and breath we still have to bring joy—not just to ourselves, but to the people placed around us. And maybe, if we lived that way, we wouldn’t need a timeline at all.
Because the truth is, we don’t know how many days are ahead of us. None of us do. So perhaps this is how we should be living anyway.
Take the extra five seconds to make a stranger smile. Pick up the phone and call someone who might just need to hear a familiar voice. Offer kindness without keeping score. Choose presence over perfection.
When the end eventually comes, I don’t think we’ll wish we had fewer headaches or more certainty. I think we’ll hope we spent what we were given—however imperfectly—on love, connection, and moments that made life feel meaningful.
And maybe that’s enough.