“I’m not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” ~ Woody Allen
“Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.” ― Mahatma Gandhi
Fifty days before his 57th birthday, my dad died of a heart attack.
Fifty days before my 57th birthday, I held my breath.
That date {June 27} has been following me like a shadow. For months, I’ve been tracking it, watching it, wondering… Would I make it?
The day passed; I did not.
And let me tell you, the days leading up to it were WILD.
‼️ Every cell in my body was alert.
📣 Every sound felt amplified.
🚧 Every decision felt like a fork in the road.
🤗 Every hug lasted a little longer.
I moved through the world like a woman on borrowed time — touching leaves, tasting my food, listening to people like it might be the last thing I ever heard.
It was exhausting. And extraordinary.
Here’s what I learned:
When you live like you might not be here tomorrow, everything becomes sacred.
The way your feet hit the ground.
The breath you didn’t know you were holding.
The choice to speak — or stay silent.
The tiny shift in perspective that heals old wounds.
I’m not here to say “live every day like it’s your last” — that’s too much pressure.
But maybe today, you could live like it matters. Like you matter.
Because you do.
TAKE ACTION: What are you hyperaware of today? A sound? A sensation?
Pause. Feel it.
Then do one thing that honors the miracle of being still here.
Make it a strong day!
If I Truly Had Only Today...
