28,105 Days
There have been several instances while teaching my dental students that I’ve tried to make some type of connection to pop culture, no doubt aging myself immediately. A couple of years ago during a lecture on the use of general anesthesia, we were discussing the drugs commonly used during such cases, and I mentioned that propofol was the drug that notoriously led to the demise of Michael Jackson.
Blank stares.
No nods of confirmation or raised eyebrows of interest.
And then inside my head, “Holy hell. They don’t know who Michael Jackson is.”
“Do you guys even know who Michael Jackson is???”
Silence. My eyebrows, up.
“Raise your hand if you know who Michael Jackson is.”
Far less than the number of hands I had hoped for slowly crept into the air.
At that moment it occurred to me that in one generation, someone who was once the epitome of fame was now a meaningless, generic name (Michael Jackson—rather boring, no?). Actually, not just meaningless.
UNKNOWN.
13 #1 singles, 13 Grammys, and one of the best selling artists of all time, THE pop culture icon of my youth, and now this collection of bright young people in their early twenties barely knew who he was.
There’s some real significance in this abrupt realization, other than the constant reminder of the age gap between my students and me. If Michael Jackson can go mostly unknown within only 30 years, it stands to reason that in 100 more, a miniscule few will even recognize his name. And in 200, likely no one will. Why is this relevant? Because if in 200 years, no one will know who MICHAEL FREAKING JACKSON was, then I’m quite confident no one will know who I was. Or who you were. Probably not even our descendants. In a few generations, our names will be nothing more than a hit on an ancestry.com search that has little meaning other than a puzzle piece in a digital family tree.
The average American’s life span is now 78 years (and heading in the wrong direction for a bunch of obvious reasons, but that’s another post). That’s approximately 28,105 days to make your mark on the world.
28,105 days to
Live.
Your.
Life.
To try, to fail, to succeed, to grow, to love, and to be who you were meant to be. If you’re like me and have struggled with separating internal and external motivation for a better part of your life, then it may be the case that in your quest to do all the things and check all the boxes, you forgot to actually ask yourself, “what do I WANT my life to mean?”
In my enormously overcommitted late 30s, it hit me HARD that up until that point I had been so hellbent on achieving the “next” thing, that I hadn’t ever paused long enough to ask myself WHY I was achieving said next thing.
College? Check. Job? Check. Advanced degree? Done. House. . .career. . .family. . .check, check, check. Want to be on our board of directors? Sure. Would you be willing to volunteer for this committee? Of course. Can you co-chair this fundraiser? Absolutely. Work two jobs? Why not? Workout? I’ll get it in at 5am. I was speeding through life at 100mph on mindless autopilot to a destination I thought would prove someday that I had “made it,” and the truth was that I didn’t even know what “making it” really meant TO ME. For some, a few bumps in the road are enough to course-correct. For others, it takes a fiery crash to deliver the wakeup call required. For me, it was the latter. My wakeup call required massive personal failure to force me to see and speak these truths to myself:
Perfectionism and vulnerability cannot co-exist.
Vulnerability requires radical honesty and courage.
Honesty is the price of admission for any meaningful relationship, even if it’s hard and it hurts. This includes the relationship with myself.
I cannot control what other people think, feel, or do.
My worth is not determined by my accomplishments.
The people who love me do so in spite of my failures. This is the essence of grace and compassion.
The only thing I truly have the power to impact is the present moment.
The most I have to offer in this life is to be a net positive on those with whom I happen to cross paths.
Letting go of the need to become and choosing just to be was like a death. It was also the rebirth of a version of me that knew I wanted to stop simply existing and start living. Intentionally living. Living while still having goals, dreams, and hopes. But instead of fiercely plundering toward arbitrary accomplishments with my head down, this time taking in each opportunity with gratitude. Conscious. With my eyes wide open.
If the whats, whens, and whos of life are the pieces of a tapestry, then the whys are the threads that hold it together as a beautiful masterpiece. It’s the whys that make it make sense, that provide continuity and strength. It’s never, ever too late to stop and find your why. It’s never insignificant to pursue meaning and fulfillment. Doing so doesn’t mean abandoning the responsibilities to your job, family, and community. It means making a deliberate choice to be present in each moment and pausing before the people-pleasing, achievement-chasing, knee-jerk “yes” comes out of your mouth. In the words of Tim Ferriss, “if it’s not a hell yes, it’s a no.”
In 200 years, no one will know you or me or any of the reasons we did or didn’t pursue our heartfelt purpose and fulfillment. No one will remember if you failed. No one will have an accounting of your ups and downs, your embarrassing moments, or your triumphs. In every one of your remaining days, it is up to you to choose. Choose to be present. Choose to risk failure. Choose to be vulnerable. Choose to be honest. Choose to do the things that the person you want to be would choose. It is in the choosing and presence that 28,105 days become a life worth living, one moment at a time.
Happy choosing.