If Today Was Your Last Day

“Live each day like it would be your last.” Nickelback had it right. They all did. And if someone would’ve told me today was my last, I might have done things a tad differently.

First off, I’d probably have gone to Mrs. K’s class, I’d probably have finished the ice cream in my freezer, made my bed, and told my family and friends I loved them.

If someone told me, today was my last day, I’d do it all. I’d go skydiving. Write my last poem. And dance in the street. I’d try on every dress in my closet. Wear the most outrageous, over-the-top hat. And paint a rainbow on my face.

I’d say I was sorry for all the things I’ve done and forgive all the people who wronged me. I’d trip an Arab. And ninja kick Obama. I’d eat a five star dinner and order everything on the menu. I’d drive a motorcycle, ride a rollercoaster and swim with Dolphins. I’d do everything I’ve always wanted to do and all the things I was too scared to want…And I’d probably whisper a prayer or two.

I guess that’s the difference between what I think I would do and what I should do.

Would I like to skydive? Sure. But when it comes down to it, when I truly think about the last breaths I want to take, am I jumping from a plane, in 27 dresses and a big furry hat? Will it really matter what my last poem was about, or that I got to confront my emotional fears? Are there fashion police in Heaven? Will I be met by poetry critics and psychologists? Will anyone care that I dared to drive a motorcycle or that I could dance in public? Will I remember the thrill of riding The Superman? Will the taste of chocolate soufflé linger on my tongue? Will any of it matter in the world to come?

What does it really mean to live like you’re dying?

It means, differentiating between the temporary and the eternal. The fleeting and the everlasting. It means, holding on to the things that matter and letting go of the things that don’t have enough substance to carry on into the next world. To really live life like it’s your last day, means giving up the transience of the material world, to revel in the G-dliness found only in the physical world we call, “home”.