Writing is my artistic expression. My keyboard is my brush. Words are my medium. My blog is my canvas. And committing to writing daily makes me feel like an artist.
I love this metaphor for how to live a meaningful life, “Live a lifetime in a day,” shared by Harvard physician Dr Aditi Nerurkar on The Diary of a CEO podcast. I took the liberty of emphasizing each of the 5 stages for easy reference:
“[w]hat creates a meaningful life… is to live a lifetime in a day.
And so that sounds like this big thing, but all it is, is that when you start your day, think about five things,
five things that you can do in your day to create an arc of a long and meaningful life in one day.
So what does that mean?
Spend a little bit of time in childhood.
So in wonder and play, even if it’s for a few minutes, do something that brings you joy for joy’s sake.
Spend a little bit of time in work.
We all know what that is, and for most of us, it’s a lot of time, but for, you know, it doesn’t have to be paid work, but just something that helps you feel a sense of productivity agency that I can do difficult things and I can overcome.
Spend a few minutes in solitude,
very important for all of the reasons that we’ve talked about today.
Spend some time in community,
so engaging with others, and then
spend some time in retirement or in reflection,
really taking stock of your day. So at the end of the day, when you’re going to bed and you’re putting your head on your pillow, you can say, okay, yes, I lived a meaningful life. I did all of those things.”
What a beautiful frame to start your day with. Usually I’ve got more reflection to contribute after I share something like this, but I really don’t this morning.
We’d all be a bit more happy, more appreciative of the life we live, if this was our daily goal.
When I retire, and have more free time, I’m going to expand on this topic considerably. But for now I’m just sharing a 3-part premise.
There is a convincing argument against the idea of free will, and some very bright people argue that there is no such thing. I, on the other hand, believe we do have free will… but it is limited.
Go to the ‘free-will’ tag on my blog and you’ll see that I’ve shared this and other related idea before.
Right now I just want to put down a list of premises which, one day, I’ll defend, but for now, here they are:
Consciousness is emergent. It is the product of excess processing time beyond what’s needed for survival.
Free will is not fully free. Both the environment and more importantly our hardware affect our ability to think freely. Don’t believe me? Try to make a challenging decision when you have an agonizing tooth ache.
Limited free will is also emergent and comes with consciousness. Despite the fact that there are constraints and limits to how free free will is, it’s still more free than no free will.
Consciousness is at the crux of the argument. Consciousness does not have a physical position in our physical world. You can’t point to a part of the brain and say, ‘there it is’. So arguing against free will based on physics falls apart.
Looking at an MRI or other brain scan after asking someone a question and being able to predict their answer before they say it is another argument against free will. However, that doesn’t tell us how our brain came to that decision, it only shows that our conscious mind doesn’t react or even necessarily fully understand our unconscious mind… but there is still an unconscious mind that made that decision. Deciding to discuss the conscious and unconscious mind as two separate things is a false division that is useful to talk about, but the reality is, we are of one mind… Even if we ourselves can’t fully grasp how our own consciousness works. 
Two things are happening in the MRI argument that are faulty when used in an argument against free will: First, there is a free will decision that happens, even if it’s before our conscious mind knows. Second, the fact that our hardware limits the decisions themselves and then also how we rationalize those decisions based on our (limited) decision-making, does not negate the fact that we still made the decision.
Well, there you have it, I said I wasn’t going to expand on these premises and I already started to. The thing to realize is that just because our free will has considerable limits, and constraints, doesn’t negate the fact that we are still making choices that are truly ours.
We have limited free will but still freer than not having free will at all.
I spent the afternoon with my mom, her sister, my wife and my kids. My aunt had us in stitches. It was wonderful having a good belly laugh. My favourite line from my auntie. “I like living by myself. I’m fine to talk to myself, I don’t need anybody else. It’s only a problem if I hear voices talking back, other than that, I’m good.”
Before this, I spent most of the day with an old friend. I can’t travel back home to my mom and not find time to see my buddy.
It’s just wonderful to realize that what I value most are my family and friends. Give me this, and my health, and I really don’t need much else from this world.
The events couldn’t be further apart with respect to the kinds of emotions felt, but as you get older it’s likely that the only times you meet for large gatherings are weddings and funerals. Celebrations of new beginnings and ultimate endings.
The one thing they have in common is bringing people together. Family and friends making the effort to travel long distances to share a common space with each other.
A chance to see once little people all grown up, and to see the age lines in those who are like you, starting to show the wear of time. A chance to catch up on the news of lives seen in bits and spurts. A chance to hug, to chat, to laugh, to cry.
A chance to be together, sporadically celebrating beginnings and endings.
A couple years ago I had a herniated disk. The herniation pinched a nerve going into my left arm and that’s where I felt the pain… a pain that seemed ever present. I was on very strong meds. I supplemented these with legal but more recreational drugs. The prescription ones made the pain tolerable. The recreational ones helped me move the pain from my brain to my arm, to relieve the anguish of being in constant pain.
The timing went like this: In early February the pain started. In early March I got the preliminary diagnosis, and was prescribed medication. I visited my parents for March break and the day I arrived my dad had a stroke. I spent the next 12 days in agony, helping my family deal with dad hospitalized, while making physio appointments and getting IMS treatment for the constant physical agony I was in.
When I got home from that trip I got prescribed much harder drugs. I was in constant pain. One day in late April I was driving to school and I realized that I shouldn’t be driving, my meds were too strong. This hit me hard, I instantly made the connection that if I shouldn’t be driving, I shouldn’t be in charge of a school. I was able to make a doctor’s appointment the very next day, and I got a letter to take some time off. That day I also got a phone call to say that I better get home to my parents. My dad, who never left the hospital since his stroke, had taken a turn for the worse and probably wouldn’t make it through the night.
I said a final goodbye to him over the phone before getting on a late night flight. I’ll never know if he heard those words. I spent another 10 or so days back with my mom, cleaning up things my dad left behind that needed to get cleaned up. At this point I was also supplementing my prescription.
I hit a low point after I returned home. One unusually painful night I had to ask my daughter to drive me to the dispensary… a dad asking his daughter to drive him to get his fix. That’s not really what it was, but it felt like that to me. Loser dad who can barely get himself from bed to the couch, and didn’t have the wherewithal to even get dinner ready for a wife working full time, having to get his daughter to drive him to buy drugs. Not a proud moment for me.
Within a couple more weeks, the inflammation reduced, the nerve wasn’t compressed as much, and I was able to get back to only a mild prescription… And then back to work after 5 or 6 weeks off. The whole experience was awful physically and emotionally, but it had an end! I knew it had an end, but sometimes at my worst I questioned it. I wondered, if this is life from now on, could I go on?
—-
My sister had an MS diagnosis for over 25 years. Slowly and incrementally she lost feeling in her legs. They were numb to the touch, but she felt pain, searing sciatica pain. Shooting pain that ran down her legs. For the most part things would stay static, then she’d have a small episode, and she’d lose a bit more feeling, be a bit less mobile, but the pain persisted. About 4-5 years ago the episodes escalated, and her mobility declined much more quickly. And still the pain.
Recently it became clear that she’d be moving from a walker to a wheelchair. A week ago she had six falls (only 6 that I’m aware of in that week). She would cut her finger cutting vegetables, and not feel it, only becoming aware of the injury from seeing the blood. And despite this numbness and lack of feeling, there was still the never-ending sciatica pain.
On Monday her daily pain was ended. 56 years old. Half of that time in incrementally greater pain. I can honestly say that she was stronger than me.
I’ll miss her dearly, and yet I’m thankful she isn’t going to suffer any more.
Sharon Silvera Truss May 15, 1969 – November 24, 2025
I had a bit of an epiphany yesterday morning. It wasn’t great. I had a vision for something I had planned to do in the future and I was suddenly faced with the reality that it wasn’t going to live up to the hype I had built up. I envisioned it completely differently to the reality of what it was. Now it has me questioning my plans I thought I had set. It’s not a huge deal but when this kind of reality sets in, it’s a bit of a wake up call.
It reminds me of a video I once made. It was called Brave New World Wide Web. I started building the slideshow and I had a Cure song, Just Like Heaven, in my head. It was going to be perfect, the long lyric-less intro was going to be an ideal opening. I would play the song in the car to and from work, and I couldn’t wait to put the video together.
Then it was finally time to sync the slides to the song, and it… just… didn’t… work. It was awful. I remember walking out of our little home office absolutely dejected. I’d built it up in my mind as the perfect marriage of song and slides and it wasn’t to be. A few hours later I found a song that couldn’t have worked better and all was good.
Yesterday morning I had another one of those unexpected moments. In the end, it’s not going to be a big deal, but in that ‘it just isn’t going to work’ vision-doesn’t-match-reality moment I felt like I was slapped in the face. It was a wake up call I didn’t know I needed.
It’s time to start thinking about a plan B. I’m metaphorically looking for the next song, one that will work. I found one for my video, I’ll find one for this… I just didn’t know until yesterday that I’d have to have an alternate plan. The great news is, I’ve got time. No rush, just a wake up call that there’s a mismatch between my vision and reality that needs to be sorted out. I’m glad that I see it now, and not a year from now.
As I approach the age of 58, it’s not only clear that I’ve lived more than half my life, I’m approaching the point at which, if I’m lucky, I’ve got about 1/3 of a life left. That’s not a sad statement, it’s just the reality of the genetics I’ve been dealt.
It’s a wonderful reminder of how precious life is. It’s as wonderful reminder to pause, to appreciate tiny moments, to find a reason to smile, to laugh, and to share special moments with others.
When we find moments in our day to appreciate, the day has been worth spending. When we go through the motions of the day in order to get the day done, we’ve simply wasted the day. Are 100 wasted days worth as much as 25 meaningful ones?
And so counting the days is not as important as valuing them. We need to appreciate the time we have such that if today was going to be our last day, we can say that it was well spent. Stack a few hundred or a few thousand well spent ‘last days’ together and you’ve stacked up a life worth living, no matter how much time you’ve got left.
After an argument with a loved one doesn’t end well, you re-live the argument with alternate endings.
After an angry exchange at a traffic light, you yell a profanity while sitting alone in your car. No one heard you, but you are now two lights away and still thinking about the incident. Replaying the anger, and the things you’d like to say to the other driver’s face, as if it mattered now as much as when the exchange actually happened.
After a witty exchange with a coworker, you think up other funny quips that you could have said. Nothing you will actually say later, just things that would have been great to say in the moment.
How many lives do we live in our minds, which never transpose to reality? Re-imagined scenarios, re-lived moments, re-invented futures. None of which will ever come to pass. Never lived in the real world… yet very real in our minds.
I was texting to a friend and asked how things were going. His response, ‘Goodish’. This word hit a chord with me. I get it. It’s a sentiment more than descriptor. It’s less than ‘but’, as in ‘I’m good but…’, and yet more than saying satisfactory.
Health is good, a few aches, yet doing well. Family is well too. Work is just fine. Me? Oh, I’m ‘Goodish’.
I went to a friend’s father’s funeral today. It was a Catholic service. The music was pleasant, the tribute was lovely. You can tell he was loved by family and friends. It was really nice.
This made me think a bit about what kind of service I’d want? If I had a terminal diagnosis and knew the date was looming, I’d probably want a celebration of life before I died. To me that is the time to actually get together and celebrate.
That said, I’d prefer to live a long healthy life and slip away in my sleep at a ripe, but cognitively sound, old age. Without knowing the date was coming, what kind of celebration would I want?
Two things come to mind. First, I’d want a long interval between my death and my celebration of life. Don’t hold it when the pain of loss is close, don’t make my death date a date to remember. That’s not a date I want defining memories of me. Second, it’s not very important what I want, after all, I’m gone. Let the people who I matter to pick a distant date, maybe my birthday for example, to gather in any way they wish, and to do with my ashes whatever they wish.
Forget the actual death, remember the life the way you want. The celebration isn’t for me, it’s for those left behind.
