Issue No. 61

Imagine you’re in your deathbed in a random hospital where you grew up. You look at the window on your right. You see trees, you see people walking on the streets, the sky seems to be smiling at you. Your partner holds your hand, their touch a tether to a life now slipping away. As you lie there, moments of your life flash before your eyes, not just the highlights but the gaps, the voids of what could have been.

You recall your childhood dreams, those wild ambitions that felt so real, so achievable. Back then, the world was a canvas, and you were eager to paint it with the colors of your potential. You wanted to write a novel, travel the world, or start a business. You promised yourself that you would live a life full of purpose, that you would not settle for mediocrity. Yet here you are, haunted by the realization that those dreams remained just that—dreams.

Every missed opportunity is a ghost at the foot of your bed, whispering reminders of the paths you didn’t take. The job offer in a different city, the relationship you let slip away, the chances you didn’t seize out of fear or complacency—they all converge upon you now, an unrelenting parade of what-ifs. Each one represents a fragment of the life you might have lived, a potential version of yourself that never came to be.

You think about the gym membership you signed up for but barely used. What if you had stuck with it? You could have seen how strong and fit your body could have become, experienced the confidence and vitality that comes with physical fitness. The feeling of regret is sharp as you imagine the healthier, more energetic version of yourself that you never allowed to emerge.

Then there’s the business idea you always talked about but never pursued. What if you had taken that leap of faith? You could have provided financial freedom for your family, giving them a life free from the stress of financial instability. The regret here is a heavy burden, as you think of the vacations you never took, the experiences you couldn’t afford, and the comfort you could have provided for your loved ones.

The novel you never wrote is another ghost. You had the talent, the stories in your mind that begged to be shared. What if you had dedicated time each day to write? You could have seen your name on a book cover, felt the pride of holding your published work in your hands, and touched the lives of readers who might have found solace, inspiration, or joy in your words. The regret of not giving voice to your creativity is a silent ache in your heart.

You remember the languages you wanted to learn, the musical instrument you wanted to play, the hobbies you wanted to master. Each one a path not taken, a potential unfulfilled. Imagine the rich, varied experiences you could have had, the doors that could have opened, the people you could have connected with. The regret of a life not fully lived presses down on you, a reminder of the richness you denied yourself.

As you lie there, you start to question the choices that led you here. Was it fear of failure that held you back? Or perhaps it was the comfort of the familiar, the safety of the known that kept you from venturing into the unknown. Maybe it was the voices of others, their doubts and expectations, that drowned out your own inner calling. In this moment of reckoning, the reasons seem inconsequential. What matters is the gnawing sense of unfulfilled promise, the potential that remained untapped.

Your partner squeezes your hand, a silent reassurance amidst your internal turmoil. Their presence is a reminder of the love and support you’ve had, the one aspect of your life that feels complete. Yet even this is tinged with a bittersweet realization—could you have been a better partner, more present, more engaged? Did your unfulfilled potential also affect the ones you loved, limiting not just your life but theirs as well?

The trees outside sway gently in the breeze, a reminder of life’s persistent march forward, indifferent to individual regrets. The people on the street go about their day, unaware of your existential struggle. The sky, in its vastness, holds the promise of infinite possibilities, a stark contrast to the finite nature of your existence. It smiles down upon you, a silent witness to your life’s journey, both the lived and the unlived.

And then…you blinked.

You see the present moment—the now, this moment, as you read this. How did this mental exercise change your perception of your life? Where will you go? What will you accomplish? What kind of life do you want to have while you still have the time, the health, and the strength to endure suffering? You have a choice today; tomorrow you may not.

Start living the life you’ve always wanted.

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Until next week,