November 28, 2021

The Best Gift we can give ourselves in December.

 

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I’ve just been throwing them away.

Lots of them, anyway.

My days, I mean.

I’ve been given a gift of around 35,000 days. Well, I suppose not all of them can really be counted on—things can change in an instant and people die sooner than we expect them to. But, if I’m lucky, if I take after my beautiful-souled and long-living great grandmothers, I’ll have about that many.

Lately, maybe because of the loss so many have suffered during the pandemic, I’ve been seeing this phrase a lot:

“Make the most of your days.”

I mean, we all know this. But roll those words over your tongue a few times. Break them down. Repeat them, whisper them.

Every single little 24-hour period is a gift. Probably the most valuable one we’ll ever get in our lives, until tomorrow, when we get another.

But they’re not infinite.

You know how on the last day of a vacation from work, or when summer comes to a close, everything’s gone by in a blur and you don’t really know what you did with yourself—but you’re at the end now and you can’t get those days back? And you feel a little sting of regret that you didn’t spend every single one of those days having the best f*cking time of your life?

Is that what it’s going to feel like when I turn 50, or 60, or 70? I should ask my grandma, but I’m a little afraid of the truth, of facing what I think is a realistic answer.

And then, when I think about what went on during my 30s, a complete decade of my life—it involved a lot of scrolling and screen time, worrying, obligations, and the complete opposite of self-love.

Damn.

Did I really make the best of each day in those 10 years? If I had the chance to try again with some of those days, would I take it? Abso-f*cking-lutely. Not necessarily to right wrongs and avoid mistakes—but just to make sure each one was worth having. To honor the gift that each day truly is.

I mean, I don’t need to be living a bucket-list life every single day I get. That’s completely unrealistic. But did I take a moment every day in my 30s to appreciate something, or someone? Did I laugh? Did I smile? Was there any tiny thing to make each day not feel like it was a wasted one?

I think I’ve gone days without one single smile. Weeks, even.

What a f*cking tragedy.

So, just a little reminder, then—to myself, to you.

Each of our days, they’re in our hands, like pristine, unblemished pieces of paper just begging to be marked with something good.

The best gift we can give ourselves in December is to Make. Them. Count.

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