Do You Live Life Like You Are Dying?

A memory, a mindset, and the quiet realization that rushing through life might be the opposite of truly living it

Prefer Listening? If you’d rather listen than read, check out Somewhat Congruent, my micro-podcast.

I have a very vivid memory of standing in my friend’s kitchen (the same one from my Friday the 13th memory). I spent a lot of time there and knew the typical goings-on—like turning the radio on for Lucky before we left the house. Y’know, the things you learn about a family when you’re the adopted neighborhood child.

I was a hyper-aware kid, conditioned to anticipate others’ needs or at least to adjust my thinking and actions enough to guarantee safety in others’ reactions… or more importantly, their lack of reaction when I was “successful.”

I don’t remember if I turned the radio on that day, but I do remember this:

It’s a summer afternoon.
Everyone else is in the garage.
I’m on the basement steps, alone, at least it feels that way.

And I hear it.
Like, really hear it.

The lyrics to Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dying.”

A lot of my childhood memories lived in my inner dialogue. I didn’t speak much. I was labeled “shy” (shocker to anyone who knows me now) because I didn’t interact much, at least not until I felt comfortable. And like most kids, once I did… the chaos came out.

Even in this memory, older and more social, I was still more comfortable in my head (still am).

And I remember this moment setting me into reflection:

Live like you are dying… what does that actually mean?

My conclusion at the time?

Hurry up. Do everything you can. Live like this is your last day.

That thought—along with so many other moments—helped solidify a rushed mentality.

The all-or-nothing.
The people-pleasing.
The anxiety.
The fear.

This is just one piece I’ve been able to catch, observe, review, and now… refine.

I sit here today realizing how wrong I was.

Not just younger me
Every version of me up until now.

But even that feels unfair to say.

“Wrong” isn’t quite right. It was probably exactly what I needed to get here. (That’s a philosophical rant for another day.)

This memory comes back often.

I can still see the kitchen.
Feel the cold air from the basement stairs.
See the sunlight hitting the hutch, the microwave, the radio.

And I hear it, clear as ever.

Then the visuals fade, and all that’s left are my thoughts landing on one belief:

You have to hurry up and live before you die.

And technically… that’s not wrong.

More than one thing can be true at the same time.

Now—about 20 years later—I see it differently.

I’m sitting here, slowly eating a piece of chocolate, thinking about my Gma. She did most things slowly. I picture her half-eaten fruit snacks she’d leave out and come back to over days.

She knew how to enjoy small moments.

And suddenly… it clicks.

It’s ironic because technically, I know this.

Logically, I understand the benefits of mindfulness and taking things one step at a time. Anyone who has spoken to me for more than five minutes has probably heard me reference it.

But that’s the thing:

Unnoticed thoughts, feelings, memories, and narratives have the ability to unconsciously shape us in tiny moments and those moments always add up.

Today, I am able to untie an inaccurate narrative and recalibrate to a more congruent way of thinking.

And I’m excited to see the actions that follow.

If I were truly dying

(sooner rather than later… and also in the “we’re all dying a little every day” kind of way)

I wouldn’t rush.

I would slow down as much as possible.

I would eat every bite like it was my last, not in urgency, but in presence.

Noticing.
Savoring.
Enjoying every last morsel.

I wouldn’t judge my thoughts or feelings.

I would welcome every emotion I was lucky enough to experience.

I would feel everything—fully, physically, in my body.

I would make every moment count.

In other words:

I would pump the brakes.

I would use every moment to align more deeply with myself,
and to actually enjoy my life while I’m living it.

As I relisten to the song today, I think Tim would agree.

That means:

No multitasking.
No mind-reading others’ perceptions of me.
No taking my feelings for granted.

Just loving myself and others the best I know how and feeling grateful for whatever I get to experience.

So the next time you feel yourself rushing…

Skipping past the sights,
the smells,
the moments,
the extra three-second hug

Because of timelines, expectations, or judgment…

Pause.

Because that version of “living like you’re dying.”
might not actually be congruent at all.

Somewhat Congruent,

Candice

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