Last Friday, I caught up with a good friend who’s also a founder in the wellness industry. Adam is my go-to for bad jokes, advice, commiseration, or just an open share. “Let me run something by you…” is our standard greeting.
Over a meal, we checked in with one another, especially about the challenges we both face building a new business – how it can feel like the work is never ending, the ongoing attempt to find balance, the existential angst that comes from not knowing if it’s all going to work out, and the drive to keep going, fueled by the tiniest of victories.
I was having a particularly rough week – pulled in multiple directions, spread thin, going through the motions – and felt like I wasn’t doing anything well at all. It was cathartic to have the space for that kind of a conversation, and to know that Adam understood, because he’d been there too.
As the meal was coming to a close, we shared our plans for the weekend. He had kids’ soccer games, a birthday party, and the requisite shuttling to and from. He mentioned wanting to be really present with his wife and kids, especially because he’d been working so much recently.
When it got to my plans I confessed that, for the first time in a while, I had none. (In fact, I was quite looking forward to taking a breather from work for a few days.)
“If you could do anything tomorrow, what would you do?” Adam asked. “What would your ideal day look like?”
The question stopped me. Beyond a good, long run and maybe a pizza, nothing came to mind. Nothing at all.
When asked to fantasize about a perfect day, I drew a blank – not for lack of interest but for lack of options. How odd.
Even though I know I’ve only got one shot at this life, I still have to be reminded to design the life I want. Otherwise I too easily find myself in default mode – pre-existing patterns, someone else’s agenda, following the motions, life as inertia.
That question – what would your ideal day look like – confronted me, perhaps in a way it wouldn’t have any other night. It wasn’t that I couldn’t pull together plans for the next calendar day; it was the invitation to design my ideal day. What the question triggered for me was the fantastic idea that I could design my future.
I’ll be 43 in three weeks, about as midlife as you can get – stuck squarely between the final remnants of youth and the inevitability of old age. I don’t have personal birthday traditions, apart from wanting many gifts (love language) and not wanting a party (introvert). I don’t typically take stock, make plans for the year ahead, or even pause for a mindful reflection on the year that has just passed.
This year is different. Sparked by my conversation with Adam, I find myself thinking about how little time I actually have – in toto – and, specifically, how there are no do-overs. I get one 43. There’s no, “Well, that one didn’t go so well, let’s do it again.” Even though I know I’ve only got one shot at this life, I still have to be reminded to design the life I want. Otherwise I too easily find myself in default mode – pre-existing patterns, someone else’s agenda, following the motions, life as inertia.
The reminder that I can design my future has been surprisingly meaningful. It’s prompted me to look up from time to time and own my story. It’s pricked me in a way that I’m both grateful for and haunted by, even if I don’t have that ideal plan lined up just yet.
I know it appears I’ve uncritically stumbled into the clichéd epicenter of the self-help movement: “Live your best life.” “Live life to the fullest.” I get it – I know how trite this can sound. (I assure you I have not just returned from a Tony Robbins retreat.)
Truth is, the reminder that I can design my future has been surprisingly meaningful. It’s prompted me to look up from time to time and own my story. It’s pricked me in a way that I’m both grateful for and haunted by, even if I don’t have that ideal plan lined up just yet.
That Saturday, after dinner with Adam, I woke up and went for a long run, which is about 9 miles these days. I took a new route, one that front loaded hills, making the middle miles faster and effortless and wonderfully enjoyable. I didn’t quite make it to a runner’s high, but I definitely hit a solid medium. I listened to Matthew McConaughey read his memoir, “Greenlights,” which is delightful – as much wisdom as it is biography. I finished the run bathed in sweat and sunlight and at least a little gas in the tank. As far as runs go, this one was pretty close to ideal.