Life is too short to keep treating joy like a luxury and yourself like an afterthought.
I was originally going to entitle this piece ‘all you could have said that you never said”.
Thursday. It’s a few minutes to 3 o’clock. I sat at a table by the window. A fraction of sun rays sifted through the half-drawn curtain. Gentle breeze. Swaying leaves. The room smelled of my Jollof rice. Clear sky.
All the right ingredients for a picturesque day.
And there I was. Writing. One song playing in my earphones, on repeat.
In a rush of memories, a swirl of emotions, and a twinge of nostalgia, I was teleported back to a bus ride in March this year.
It was a picture-perfect day like that Thursday, with all the right ingredients—including a splash of fascinatingly beautiful colors across the western sky. The road flashed past in rushes of green and mud and rust, the air whipping my face as the bus sped down the road. I was smiling.
Until I wasn’t anymore.
At that moment, I was reminded of the astonishing fact that we’re allowed to live only once. How’s that? Only once.
Around the middle of last year, a friend introduced me to Die with Zero: Getting All You Can from Your Money and Your Life by Bill Perkins. When I started reading the book, I thought it was frivolous, unserious, carelessly misleading. Why else would someone spend over 200 pages admonishing people to prioritize pleasure as much as, if not more than, investments and savings? For people from a third-world country with a dream-crippling economy and government, we can hardly afford a walk into Chicken Republic to buy shawarma after the daily spirit-breaking struggles and payments of unending bills.
What time is there for such mundane pleasures as kayaking or a hike to the countryside? At the end of the day, how much money is left to afford us the luxury of stopping by an art museum to appreciate artworks?
So forgive me when I thought, Oh, this book certainly isn’t for an audience like us.
Until that bus ride.
Quite erratic as they come, I have my moments of liberating epiphanies. But you could attest that it’s no easy task to guard a flame with cupped palms during a storm.
Nevertheless, it occurred to me that, as much as I’d like to deny the truth of what I read in that book, we only have once to live—and owe it to ourselves to truly be happy during the little time we have before we complete our tour here on Earth.
We could keep making excuses for why we can’t enjoy life, or we could scream “Silencio, Bruno!” to the litany of excuses in our heads and truly live, basking in the moment.
Reality check: There’ll always be one problem or two to see to. It’s an inexhaustible tank—never running out, always replenishing.
That’s to say, the more we deny ourselves happiness in the name of solving one more problem today, the more hordes tomorrow will present.
I’m taking my own advice on this. To be. To live and not just exist.
The “said” part in the would-have-been title is inspired by a song that, among other things, speaks of letting the people we love know how much they mean to us.
Holding back does neither them nor us any good. Instead of regretting that you never expressed how enamored you were of them when it’s too late—because they’re gone—you’d better allow them little sanity with your raving about their preciousness.
My friends? Family? Colleagues I care about? I hold back no compliment, no expression of affection. I tell them how proud I am of them. I congratulate them when they win, offer advice when they ask, listen when they just want to talk, laugh and make the right noises when they’re excited and practically a chatterbox.
Oh no, I won’t let you misinterpret what I’m saying here. Save. Invest. Still aspire to hit that millionaire, billionaire, trillionaire status. (Unless, of course, you’re okay with being broke in old age—then by all means, save and invest.)
Build wealth. Only, you mustn’t sacrifice your happiness while at it. Find a balance. If you have to save for that trip, that fine dining, that boat ride, or that gallery tour, do it.
**Save for these short-term goals even as you stash resources away for long-term ones. **
I often imagine it this way: I’ve built a world-class empire. I’m stupendously wealthy. But now I’m too old to actually enjoy these things. The vigor, that charming youth-like excitement—gone.
And that’s not how I’d like to tell my story to my children. Forgive me if I don’t want to be the granddad dishing out wisdom on a dull platter of “Don’t be like me.” Live your life now that you can, instead of regretting later how much you missed.
Me? I want to experience everything amazing that I can manage to get. Nothing less.
