As I get older this day seems to become more and more significant, but not in the traditional sense of making resolutions. No, it’s a bit more profound than that – at least to me.
Please understand that what I am about to say is not meant to be morbid, rather it comes from a place of gratitude – but I still know it’s going to sound harsh…
With the passing of each year, I understand that I am one year closer to death. Having lived to the age of 62, this thought is not abstract. But immediately on the heels of that realization is a second thought: how fucking grateful I am to have lived the life I had. It’s as if somehow knowing that the show is coming to an end makes everything sweeter and more important.
Granted, my life is far from over – I feel great and look forward to continuing to learn, fail, grow and succeed. But I’m not getting any younger, and beyond taking care of myself, there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about that.
So the new year represents a reminder that this thing we call life is finite, and how we choose to spend what time we have here is entirely up to us. We have to savor each moment, each victory, each failure, each relationship and each experience.
We never know when this trip is going to come to an abrupt end. When it does you want to remember it as a life well spent, one you appreciated while you had it.
And don’t forget to tell someone you love them.