Last night, someone had a dream about my funeral. She dreamed that she was there and my family was comforting her, but she just couldn't understand how I could be around one second and just gone the next. She woke up, and still felt sad. It still felt real.
This all, of course, got me thinking about things. Everything gets me thinking about one kind of thing or another. This got me thinking about wasting time.
Wait, let me finish. It'll get there.
I'm almost 27 now and when I think back on my nearly 10,000 days on the earth and the nearly 240,000 hours contained within them, I've wasted so many of them.
Days, hours, years. Take your pick. There's been a lot of wasted time.
But when I think about wasted time, I'm not thinking about all-day Netflix marathons or finishing that video game I never quite beat. What I'm thinking about is all the time that I wasted not living.
Sure, by some arguments, marathoning Breaking Bad might not be living, not in the fullest sense, but if it's something I enjoyed, maybe it's not wrong.
I'm thinking about the opportunities I didn't take. The pitches I didn't swing for.
I'm thinking about how maybe, what I have now and I hold so dear, it could've all been mine sooner if I had just tried a little more.
If I had said what I was thinking instead of keeping it to myself out of fear.
If I had really tried, all those times, in the face of failure. When the outcome wasn't certain.
I wouldn't change much of what I have now. What I wonder is, could I have had it all sooner?
And thinking about that, is there any way I can appreciate it all more? Can I soak it in through my pores and let it fill me like standing outside in the biggest rainstorm of the year and looking up to the sky with open arms?
Can I keep this feeling forever?