why I [don't] live each day as though it were my last...

I've heard this adage a lot recently - from pastors, teachers, friends, and public figures.  Live every day as though it were your last... and I understand the heart of it - the wisdom of it - honestly I do.

Life without regrets.
Don't put off till tomorrow what needs to be done today.
Purposeful life - without getting bogged down by the little things that don't really matter.
Treasured life - where all parts are valued.
Relational life - where people know in this day, not later, that they matter to you.

And in those things, there is deep wisdom.   I fully affirm that.

But even so, I will not be living every day as though it were my last.

Why?

Because life, for most of us, while it should be regret-free, lived-well, purposeful, treasured, and relational - always - is not a short-haul.  It's more than a week of memories, a day of overflowing fullness, or one last year of endless adventures.  It is both the ordinary, day-to-day life, as well as the long-remembered moments. For most of us, life has to be lived in light of both the short-term, and the long-haul.  And living as though today were my last, I neglect the long-term perspective.  And that matters.

Because there are some fights worth having... the tenacity of hope, the desire for better in yourself, your marriage, your kids, your relationships.  The long-fought wrestling-through-it, wading-through-the-muck, standing-in-the-trenches, not-settling that says, I have hope that what is broken can be made whole, even though it will take time and will be messy.  This - you, me - this is worth fighting for, this is worth pressing into.  The kind of fight that, if this were my last day, there simply wouldn't be time for - but for the long-haul absolutely matters.

Because there are some things that actually are healthier to wait for... my son is 5 months old now.  He's right on the verge of crawling, even though he thinks he's ready to walk.  He sometimes thinks sleep is unnecessary, especially when bedtime rolls around - even though his eyes are heavy with sleep and his reasons for crying become increasingly irrational.  Even though I should - and do - treasure those moments and snuggles with him, to do what is in his best interest, sometimes I have to make a decision for tomorrow, not today.  To help him wait.  To help him sleep.  To look forward to playing tomorrow, for his sake, rather than indulging his desires for today.

Because even though we never know how many days we have left - and today might be my last day, any day - hope is a good thing and looking forward to those things to come.  Even as I strive to live purposefully, without regrets, or procrastination - I still look forward to watching my son walk.  To cheering him on from the sidelines, the front row, the bleachers.  To going back to grad school myself.  To seeing my husband learn how to fly [airplanes].  To Thanksgiving with my family or Christmas dinner with Jon's, as long as we have it.  Even if I don't actually get to see those things, it is still worthwhile to hope and to look forward with anticipation.

Because life isn't a series of highs.  It has to come with lows and mundanes and the totally ordinary dance of day-to-day living which is beautiful. 

Because there are some risk worth taking, failures worth having, mistakes worth making...  In high school, I was an exceptionally good public speaker.  I was a fast runner.  I was a gifted soccer player.  I was absolutely horrible at basketball.  On the first day of practice, my coach asked me if I'd ever seen a basketball before, let alone played.  I did, in fact, almost knock a teammate out with the ball, inbounding it into her face in a crucial game.  I made a grand total of two baskets all season the first year I played.  I think they might have been mercy shots, honestly.  Or free throws.  You better believe I kept that bench darn warm.  But you know what?  I learned more about myself, about life, and about perseverance by playing basketball, than I did in doing any of those things that I was good at.  I learned how to stick with things when they're hard.  How to cheer on my teammates without comparison or shame.  How to fail gracefully, and get up again.  Not my idea of fun - never something I would choose to do on my last day - but oh so worthwhile in the big picture.  

My list could go on - of risks that I've taken, mistakes that I've made, failures which I have had - which certainly wouldn't be my choice in terms of "final days" - but have beautified and enriched this life that I have, for however long I have it - in ways that I would never exchange.

So, I don't live each day as though it were my last.  Rather, I try to live each day fully.  With hope for a long-haul, and long-term perspective - knowledge that there are no guarantees - but hope.  And fullness.  And no regrets.   But pressing in, in the hope of tomorrow.  Willingness to engage for the long-haul, willingness to fail, desire for growth and change, willingness to wait, gratitude for the mundane.

Life to the full.

- KD