How to live a live without regrets : The Reality Test to change your priorities
What August Taught Me About Mortality and Meaning. A summer meditation on the stories we tell ourselves about success
Dear friends,
I've been thinking about death lately.
Not in a morbid way, but in the way that August afternoons lend themselves to—those long, golden hours when time seems suspended and the usual urgency of life feels suddenly optional.
There's something about summer's slower rhythm that makes space for the questions we usually keep at bay. Questions about what we're really doing with our days, and whether the stories we tell ourselves about success are actually true.
The Hospital Revelation
Three summers ago, I found myself in a hospital bed, watching the July sun stream through institutional windows. Nothing life-threatening, but serious enough to stop everything for a while.
It was the first time in years I'd been forced to be completely still.
And in that stillness, something unsettling emerged: I couldn't clearly articulate what I would miss most if this were the end.
Not because my life was empty—quite the opposite. I was busy, productive, constantly in motion. But somewhere in all that motion, I'd lost track of what I was moving toward.
The Whispered Truths of the Dying
I've been haunted by a book since then—the reflections of a palliative care nurse who spent her career listening to the final thoughts of the dying.
What struck me wasn't just what these people regretted, but what they didn't regret.
No one wished they'd answered more emails. No one regretted taking fewer business trips. No one wished they'd been more efficient.
Instead, their regrets were achingly human:
The courage they never found to live authentically
The words left unspoken to people they loved
The dreams deferred in service of productivity
The joy they postponed until "someday"
These weren't the regrets of lazy people. These were the regrets of people who had confused motion with progress, busy with meaningful.
The Tyranny of Optimization
We live in an age obsessed with optimization. Every moment must be leveraged, every decision must be data-driven, every day must be "productive."
But what if this obsession is actually a sophisticated form of avoidance?
What if by focusing so intensely on how to live efficiently, we've stopped asking why we're living at all?
I think about this when I watch people (myself included) who have mastered every productivity system, optimized every workflow, hacked every habit—yet still feel like something essential is missing.
We've become virtuosos of the urgent while remaining amateurs at the important.
The Questions That Silence the Noise
This August, I've been experimenting with different questions. Not "How can I be more productive?" but "How can I be more present?"
Not "What should I accomplish today?" but "Who do I want to become through how I spend today?"
Not "How do I optimize my time?" but "How do I honor my time?"
These questions have a strange power. They cut through the noise of endless possibility and connect you to something deeper—a sense of purpose that productivity alone can never provide.
The Multipotentialite's Burden
If you're someone with diverse interests and multiple passions, this challenge becomes even more complex.
Society constantly whispers that you should "pick a lane," that your variety is a weakness to overcome rather than a strength to celebrate.
But what if the real challenge isn't choosing between your interests, but ensuring that however you pursue them, you're doing so with intention rather than mere ambition?
What if the goal isn't to become more focused, but to become more conscious?
Three Practices That Changed Everything
In the months following my hospital stay, I developed three simple practices that have quietly revolutionized how I approach daily life:
Morning Questions
Before checking my phone, I ask: "Who do I want to be today?" Not what I want to accomplish, but who I want to be in how I accomplish it.
Evening Reflection
Before sleep, I consider: "If someone I love were living this exact day, would I be proud of how they spent it?" This removes self-criticism while maintaining clarity about alignment.
The Legacy Filter
For any significant decision, I imagine my 90-year-old self looking back. What would make that older, wiser version of me grateful? What would make them proud?
The Paradox of Conscious Living
Here's what I've discovered: the more consciously you live, the less you need to do.
Not because you become lazy, but because you become selective. You start distinguishing between what feels productive and what actually matters.
You realize that most of what we call "success" is actually just elaborate procrastination from the real work of being human.
August's Invitation
This month feels like an invitation to me—an invitation to slow down enough to remember what we're really doing here.
Not the grand metaphysical question of existence, but the practical, daily question of how we want to spend the one life we know we have.
As summer begins its gentle transition toward autumn, I find myself thinking about cycles. About how nature doesn't optimize for productivity but for presence, not for efficiency but for authenticity.
Trees don't apologize for growing slowly. Rivers don't rush to reach the ocean. Birds don't schedule their songs.
Yet they accomplish exactly what they need to accomplish, in exactly the time it takes.
The Courage to Live Consciously
Perhaps the most radical act in our hyperconnected, hyperoptimized world is simply to live consciously.
To choose our days instead of merely surviving them. To align our actions with our values instead of our calendars. To measure our lives by meaning instead of productivity.
This isn't about abandoning ambition or embracing mediocrity. It's about ensuring that our ambitions serve our humanity rather than replacing it.
A Question for You
As August winds down and September beckons with its familiar urgency, I leave you with this:
If you could live this next month with complete consciousness—if every choice reflected who you want to become rather than who you think you should be—what would change?
Not in your productivity system or your goal list, but in your daily experience of being alive?
The answer to that question might be the most important thing you discover this year.
What does conscious living mean to you? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this ongoing exploration of meaning and mortality.
Until next time,
Jo
P.S. If this reflection resonated with you, consider what small shift you could make today to align your actions more closely with your deepest values. Sometimes the most profound changes begin with the gentlest adjustments.
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