Full disclosure: this blog is going to take a deep dive right from the start. So, I recommend grabbing your waders and getting ready! Yes, it’s a fishing metaphor—and fly fishing continues to become my whole personality, so you might as well embrace it. The exercise that follows is indeed a gift. However, we often find that while we’re in the thick of it, it may not feel that way.

Before diving into this, I encourage you to find a peaceful spot where you can immerse yourself without distractions. Grab a journal and pen—you’ll want to capture your thoughts and feelings as you go. Maybe dim the lights, put on some calming music, or make yourself a warm drink. Take a few deep breaths, let go of any tension, and set an intention for what you hope to gain from this experience. What are you seeking clarity on? What parts of your life do you want to explore more deeply?

As you read, allow yourself to step into and feel the story. Imagine yourself in this situation. How would you feel? What thoughts would be racing through your mind? Don’t hesitate to pause at any point, close your eyes, and truly visualize the scene.

THE CALL

The phone rings, an unexpected intrusion on a quiet afternoon. It’s your doctor’s office. A routine follow-up, you assume. But the voice on the other end is grave, serious. The tests have come back, and the news isn’t good. There’s no easy way to say it; you have a terminal illness. A month, maybe two, if you’re lucky.

The world seems to tilt, the familiar sounds of your home suddenly distant and muffled. Your breath catches in your throat. A month? How is that possible? There’s so much left to do, so much left unsaid.

Numbness gives way to a torrent of emotions: disbelief, anger, fear. This can’t be happening. Not now, not like this. You have plans, dreams, and a whole life stretching out before you. And now it’s being snatched away, cruelly and abruptly.

Your mind races, trying to grasp the enormity of the news. Images flash before your eyes: your family, friends, and places you’ve always wanted to visit. A lifetime of cherished and regretted memories swirls in your mind.

As the initial shock subsides, a sense of urgency takes hold. Once a vast and limitless expanse, time is now a precious commodity, slipping away with every tick of the clock. The unfinished business of your life looms large.

There’s that apology you’ve been meaning to make, the fence you need to mend with an estranged friend. That trip you’ve always dreamed of taking, the book you’ve always wanted to write. Then there are the practical matters: the will, the insurance, and ensuring your loved ones are cared for.

But amidst the scramble to tie up loose ends, another realization dawns. It’s not just about fixing things. It’s about savoring the time that remains. The everyday moments – a cup of coffee in the morning sun, a child’s laughter, the warmth of a loving embrace – take on a new and profound significance.

You find yourself reaching out to loved ones, expressing your love and appreciation, forgiving old hurts, and seeking forgiveness for your own mistakes. There’s a newfound clarity, a stripping away of the trivial and the superficial. What truly matters becomes crystal clear.

This clarity is the invitation to a better life – a wild and meaningful one. We would be remiss if you moved on quickly from a powerful mirror like this visualization. Below is a list of journal prompts to help you process what awareness you have developed. 

1. If you had only one month to live, what relationships would you prioritize mending or deepening, and what would you need to say or do to make that happen? 
2. What unfulfilled dream or passion would you most regret leaving untouched, and what is the first step you can take to move towards it today? 
3. Imagine your loved ones gathered after you’re gone. What do you hope they’ll remember and say about you, and how can you start living that legacy now? 

I have considered a call like this several times over the last few years. One of the most impactful ones came down to a broken door lock. When Britney and I moved into our house (which we love), the back door quickly became the front door where our friends and family came and went. For convenience, the previous owner installed a door lock with a keypad. We loved the ease of entry, quickly typing in a code attempting to avoid a Washington downpour while carrying far too many grocery bags (I refuse to make a second trip). The batteries would need replacing occasionally, which I felt more than capable of doing.

The problem arose when the door lock did not work even after I changed the batteries. My current handyman skills began and ended with changing batteries. Though it is silly looking back on it now, the story felt real; I had to pay someone to install a new lock instead of attempting to figure it out myself. I lacked the knowledge necessary to do the swap out. To be really vulnerable, I was afraid to look stupid. The thought of needing multiple trips to the hardware store, because I missed something or ordered the wrong thing on Amazon, paralyzed me. Then there was the guilt I was heaping on myself that I did not have the money to pay someone to do the work. I promised myself when I was young that I would make the money and “we would have someone for stuff like this.” But that wasn’t true yet. So week after week, eventually month after month, I would change the batteries, and the door lock would work sometimes. I even had extra keys made so we could bypass the code. Anything to avoid feeling stupid and convincing myself the broken door lock was motivation to get out and close our next deal. 

Earlier this year, I was sitting in a personal development retreat doing an end-of-life visualization similar to the one outlined above. It involved a sinking cruise ship, lifeboats, and toothpicks, but that is another story for another blog. As I sat in my chair, tears running down my face, all I could see was Britney, who I love the most in this world, coming home after my memorial and that door lock not working. I could see her crying, frustrated, banging against the door, a reminder of the things I promised to fix and resolve but had left undone. Yes, I needed to fix the door (and I did as soon as I got home), but that door was also a window, a look into multiple areas of my life where I was allowing stories and fear of leaving my comfort zone to dictate how I showed up in my life and for the people I love. 

That moment of awareness led to important clarity, and I created what I have come to call my existential to-do list—the things that really matter that I could no longer tolerate leaving undone. I knocked out many of them quickly, and still others to tackle. So here is your chance to clarify your most important to-do list. 

Make a to-do list representing the conversations, action steps, and changes you identified as necessary as you considered the sudden ending of your life. For each item you list, identify the next step you can take towards its completion or resolution. 

Identifying your existential to-do list is one thing. Avoiding falling back into your comfort zone is another. Let’s discuss an approach to life that keeps us exploring the wild with curiosity and drive. 

It’s called the first day, the last day, and it has changed our lives.

The last installment of this series comes the week after Christmas!