It feels like it was just the other day. Truly. I can close my eyes and feel the hot sun on my skin from my younger days, remember the ache in my muscles from playing soccer with the older boys, and recall the unshakeable belief that time was like the Caribbean Sea itself—stretching out endlessly before me. I was young. I felt incredibly strong, beautiful, and that nothing could stop me. The whole world was a ripe mango waiting for me to pick it.
My, how the years have flown by.
It’s a strange feeling, isn't it? One moment you're planning your whole life, and the next you're looking at an old photograph, trying to reconcile the youth in the picture with the face in the mirror. The passage of time isn't a gentle stream; it’s a powerful current that pulls you along, and you only notice its speed when you look back at the shore you left behind.
And it has me thinking: Did I really use my time well?
This question doesn't come from bitterness or regret. It’s more of a sudden, profound awareness of the true cost of things. We spend our days working, planning, worrying, and accumulating. We trade hours for dollars, weekends for yard work, and precious moments for screen time. But what is the real price of a life? What is the ultimate return on investment we are all hoping for?
At the end of the day, all we have are a few fleeting years to prepare our souls for eternity.
That idea has been turning over in my mind lately. Whether you believe in a literal heaven, a spiritual continuation, or simply the legacy you leave for your children, the reasoning holds true. The time we have here is a test, a brief, brilliant window for us to define who we really are. It’s the one chance we get to build something that might echo after we're gone—whether it’s in the hearts of our loved ones, the work of our hands, or the kindness we show to a stranger on the road.
Like it or not, the clock is ticking. Time is running out, and it is indifferent to our plans or excuses. It's a sobering truth, but perhaps one we need to hear. In 100 years, every last one of us reading this will be old or have passed on to our resting place. The worries we have now, the little arguments, the stresses that keep us up at night—all of that will have faded into silence.
So, what is left?
Only the things that really matter. The love we give freely and from the heart. The moments of genuine connection. The work we do for a purpose greater than ourselves. The plate of food we share with someone who is hungry. The deep laughter that fills a room. The courage we find when we feel pure fear.
This doesn't mean we should fret and lose heart. Not at all. This is a call to see things clearly. It is a reminder to stop letting the minor problems of the day obscure the real meaning of our lives. We need to live with purpose. We should fill our time with the things that feed our souls, not just our pockets. Build up your family and your community, not just your career. Go look for the beauty in the sunset over the sea, not just the next deadline.
The face in the mirror might have a few more lines than before, but the eyes have seen more, loved more, and understood more. The physical strength of my youth may have been replaced by a different kind of resilience. The beauty of today isn't about a smooth face, but about the whole story—the good, the bad, the blessings—of a life being lived.
So let's not waste another second. Let's make our choices count. Let's live a life that, when we look back from the other side, we can smile and say, "Yes, my time was well spent."
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