In case you can’t remember what it’s like to really feel alive
On estimating lifespan, counting the moments that really count, and conquering the tyranny of the faux-urgent.
Based on a UPENN Life Expectancy Calculator, I have about 24,640 days left to live. Of course, there could be many more or far fewer. But putting out a possible/likely upper limit is a useful thought exercise. Every hour counts. We don’t get any of them back. And it doesn’t appear that we get to take anything with us when we leave this universe. Increasingly, I see my wealth in terms of time, relationships, and experiences. I count blessings. I feel rich when I think about the number of times I’ve stood, in utter awe, in front of a landscape, painting, or words strung together in ways that move me unexpectedly.
There are certain events in life that have a lot of hype around them, and therefore pressure — pressure to be perfect, magical, memorable. Think about first dates, graduations, the few days of a highly anticipated vacation, the moments leading up to midnight on New Year, weddings. I sometimes find myself “checking out” during those moments to take a mental step back and look down on the situation: is it really as amazing and memorable as everyone expects/assumes/hopes it to be? The thing is that I often can’t recall those official moments of sacred tradition. Perhaps I’m too busy analyzing to let them imprint emotionally.
The moments I hold dearest are the unexpected, serendipitous, couldn’t-have-been-planned-if-you-tried ones. The moments I’ve thought, “Wow, this is what it means to feel alive.” They can be objectively grand occasions, or they can seem mundane and yet hold a deep personal significance.
How many days do you think you have left? Are you doing at least one thing each day that is important to you? Are you doing that thing that is *most* important to you? When was the last time you truly felt alive?
I’ve thought a lot about these questions over the past few months. With every answer I came up with, my mind seemed to probe further: “But what’s really the point?”
With an existential crisis behind me, I’m paying a lot more attention to just being. Taking it all in; being truly present if I decide to be with people; being engaged and focused when I decide to work; taking measured actions when needed; indulging in and treasuring the small, wholesome, spontaneous (also, interestingly, mostly free or inexpensive) things that make a day beautiful.
So tonight, as I walked home from the train station and saw this big, bright moon overhead, I passed my front door and continued to the lake. I’ve been so excited about moonbeams, and the clear sky on these hot summer nights is just incredible. Forget that it’s midnight and time for dinner, shower, meeting prep, packing, etc. Those will all happen time and again. THIS — this lake, this moon, this moment — won’t always be here to savor. How many things do we think are urgent, when they’re really not? Are we favoring those faux-urgent tasks over experiences and opportunities that really are passing us by?
Our perspective — this idiosyncratic lens through which each of us see the world — dictates the way we experience reality. And the beautiful thing is that we can willfully *change* our perspectives! Not happy with your reality? Read the stories of Corrie ten Boom, Victor Frankl, and others whose objective circumstances you almost can’t imagine surviving. You can *choose* to have a deep, meaningful life.
Shirah Foy is a postdoctoral researcher at EPFL, Switzerland. Her work explores the influence of perspective, identity, and culture on entrepreneurs and their ventures. Away from the screen, she hikes steep mountains and tends to overthink both the small and big things. More at www.shirahfoy.com
