While I’m Still Here

While I’m still here, I want to smile at strangers.

I want to laugh with friends – the kind that brings tears to your eyes and makes you forget what you were worried about five minutes ago.

I want to be kind and empathetic, even when it costs me something.

I want to eat donuts. And German chocolate cake. Not every day, but without apology.

I want to see as much theatre as I can – especially musicals. Just sit in the dark and feel grateful to be there, and be reminded that people can still build something beautiful together.

I want to take long walks with Toby – my dear and most loyal friend – and let him stop and linger, sniffing everything like it matters, because to him it does. I doubt he’s worried about the future; he’s too busy taking in the present.

I want to hang out at the General Store and start conversations with strangers in line, while letting Toby work his magic.

I want long phone calls that are honest – sometimes sad – and often so funny we can’t breathe.

I want to send a Valentine to our mailman – the one who leaves dog treats with the morning mail, and write “Just thinking about you” notes with stamps, not texts.

I want to share my money and my time while I can. Not someday. But when my intuition nudges me. I used to think generosity came after you had “enough.” It usually comes before that.

I want to listen to the waves, play vinyl records more often (especially show tunes), and appreciate hot showers with tea tree shampoo.

I want to sleep naked and keep a warm blanket nearby.

I want to go to the gym and keep this body working for as long as it’s willing. I didn’t always treat it like something worth keeping strong, but now I’m paying attention.

I want to keep writing. There’s a novel that needs another chapter, and I want the people who read my work and encourage me to know I don’t take their kind words lightly.

I want to stay hopeful. Not naïve, hopeful. There are nights, as I’m trying to fall asleep, when hope feels elusive. Hope is something I have to practice, not something I wake up with.

As another birthday slips by, I know enough to understand that “later” is a story we tell ourselves. I don’t assume I have endless chapters left. The real story isn’t later. It’s right now.

While I’m still here, I want to live like I’m still here. Not someday. Now.

Paul

P.S. If you’re willing, tell me one thing on your “while I’m still here” list.