JOURNAL | Counting the Days: A Reflection on Life, Purpose, and the Unexpected

It’s funny how life throws us curveballs when we least expect them. We go through our routines—waking up, going to work, complaining about the mundane—and then, out of nowhere, something happens that shakes our sense of normalcy to its core. 

The other day, I got news that left me speechless. A friend of mine, not someone I’m particularly close to, was diagnosed with a brain tumor. He’s in his late twenties, young and full of potential, and yet here he is, facing a challenge that no one should have to confront at that age. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How is it that I spend so much of my energy sulking over trivial matters when people like him are grappling with life-threatening illnesses? 

It's shocking, to say the least. The thought of someone so young battling such a condition made me feel, well, powerless. Here I am, in my late thirties, consumed by my own frustrations—work stress, routine dissatisfaction, the feeling of being stuck. But in the face of something as serious as a brain tumor, those complaints suddenly feel insignificant. What would I do if life threw me a challenge like that? How would I handle it?

The truth is, we rarely think about how fleeting life is. We hear about people dealing with tragedy, but until it strikes someone close to us, it remains just that—distant, not quite real. Yet the reality of it is staring me in the face now. And it’s forcing me to confront some uncomfortable truths about my own life. 

I’m 38, turning 39 soon—on the cusp of 40. The thought of aging used to seem abstract, something far off. Now, it feels like a train I can’t stop, barreling towards me whether I’m ready or not. What have I been doing with my life? Am I living it in a way that honors the gift I’ve been given, or am I just letting the days slip by, consumed by routine, uninspired and unmotivated?

This isn’t the first time I’ve been shaken by loss. When I was seven, my cousin—just 13 at the time—died of a sudden heart attack. He was bright, talented, and full of promise, but his life ended before it really began. I remember thinking, back then, that if I could just live past my teens, I’d consider myself lucky. Now here I am, pushing 40, and I’m wondering if I’ve done enough with the time I’ve been granted. 

Am I wasting my life? That’s the question that haunts me. I wake up every day and go through the motions, but there’s this gnawing feeling that I’m not living up to my potential. I have a job, but it feels more like I’m just clinging to it out of fear—fear of change, fear of failure, fear that if I let go, I won’t find anything else. I stay because of the money, because it’s what keeps me afloat. But is that really enough? 

This friend’s diagnosis has forced me to confront these uncomfortable thoughts. What am I doing to maximize my potential? Am I really living, or am I just existing? 

These thoughts aren’t easy to grapple with, and they’ve left me feeling unsettled. I want to believe that life has more in store for me, that I can still change course and make the most of my time. But the fear of taking that leap is paralyzing. 

So here I am, counting the days, wondering if it’s too late to make a change. Wondering if I’ll ever stop feeling like I’m just treading water, waiting for something to happen.

But maybe the real question is—what happens if I don’t make a change?