Serendipity

If you were told you were going to die, what comes to mind?

Want to know what comes to my mind? It’s not money. It’s not fame. It’s not an extravagant trip or checking things off a bucket list. It’s spending as much time as possible with the people I love.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve started to question so much of what we were told growing up—that life is about working hard, earning success, and building something tangible. I spent so many years consumed by that mindset, thinking that if I didn’t work constantly, I wouldn’t have anything of value.

But if I were told I had an illness or that my time was running out, none of that would matter anymore. All I’d want is to be with a few people who mean the world to me. I’d want to hear about their day, share a simple meal, and listen to their laughter. When my time comes, I want to leave this world knowing exactly how they feel, sound, and even smell. I want their presence imprinted on my heart forever.

Maybe it’s strange to think this way—or maybe it isn’t. All I know is, right now, I’m still here. I’m still young. There’s no hypothetical yet. So while I have this time, I will love with my whole heart. I want the people I care about to know, without a doubt, that they are loved. That they carry a piece of me with them.

There will always be hypotheticals, always uncertainties. But we have a choice right now—to love deeply, to be present, and to give ourselves fully to those who matter. Love until your heart is content, and one day, when that hypothetical moment arrives, you’ll leave this world knowing you were truly happy.