A dear family member is dying. I am calling her frequently and flying out to see her. And I am missing her. I’m already anticipating grieving her after her death. I am making sure I have left nothing unsaid and unsettled between us.

There is the strange gift of death.

We don’t have forever in this life; by being born, we sign up to die. When we are conscious of this, we tend to get our proverbial butts in gear to accomplish what is important to us, whether that is to open up to love, travel to Australia, find meaningful work, make contact with that long-lost friend, or simply say goodbye to those we love.

When I make goals that are meaningful to me a focus of my life, my heart is more at ease. I have peace, knowing that I am making progress on (or have completed!) what is truly important to me.

If I had a gazillion years in this life, I *might* watch more t.v. Because I likely don’t have more than 100 years, I chose to risk, and to live. Do me a favor, remind me of that next time you catch me watching reruns of “I Love Lucy.”

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