How much more life will I live before it’s time to change the head on my electric toothbrush again? 

Time is visceral these days. I’m parsing out my life in an effort to make a day, a month, a year meaningful. Life-affirming. I like to think days are not just slipping by for me. No. I’m grabbing these moments and making the most of everyday, right?

Wrong. The last four years have felt as if I have just been going through the motions. I am rotating around the sun like everyone else. Whether I chronicle that journey in my journal or sit on my couch watching the newest Netflix phenomenon, time ticks away all the same.

I haven’t written in four years. Every day since then I have thought about how I haven’t written down not one word… Yet, I call myself a writer. Sometimes I pick up my journal and scribble down some thoughts, but nothing as concrete as writing on my blog or even letting someone read what I write.

That doesn’t go to say that I haven’t had inspiration. Inspiration has come and gone, I just chose to not to share out in fear that I will slip up and share something that maybe should only be for my heart to ponder.

I’m not afraid of time. The weird bit lately is that I’m aware of it.

Things—small things, big things—pop up as important. Followed by this urgency to make sure I remember to do something.

It’s weird being so conscious. Life rushes by in a whirl. This is the first time in four years that I’ve slowed down and had a look at my life… the first time in awhile that I’ve allowed myself time to think.

I definitely can’t call myself a writer anymore. I can say though that this year, that will change. It feels so weird opening up to this blank page and becoming vulnerable like how I once was. Wow does it feel good though.

If I’m honest, the last four years I have been living this stupid lie. I was living and pretending. Life looked perfect from the outside.

About two weeks ago though, I broke. I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t think I would have the courage to end such a toxic love. Yet, when everything came crashing down, I felt so much better. I felt as if I finally had seen myself again. I felt as if I knew myself again.

I cried, not out of pain, but out of relief. A burden was lifted.

Maybe I will tell you more about it when it’s less fresh and my mind has had a second to process it all.

I’m not sure what inside me changed. Something did, though. One morning I woke up and said no more. I deserve better. I deserve to one day end up with what I want. I don’t need to settle—because that’s exactly what I was doing.

Sounds so cliche. Settling for something or someone you don’t necessarily want. I can’t discount those four years though, it felt safe for a period of time.

But life is so delicate, right? Why waste another day of living on this mundane, sick-cycle carousel when I could change it in a blink of an eye?

I asked myself the question, how much more life do I need to live in order to agree with myself that now is the time to change the trajectory of my days, months, and years.

The answer? Apparently, four years of wasted time sounded scary, so I went ahead and got on with the difficult.

I think I like this feeling of being so conscious what takes up my time. I wonder if this awareness will stick around? I love feeling that urgency of needing to make a decision. I love being able to think back on when I changed that toothbrush head last… and actually have an answer how soon I need to change it again.

Maybe this goes with the theme of engagement? I’ve always been obsessed with this idea. If you’ve read anything I’ve written before, I might have talked about the idea of what being engaged truly means. Read previous post about engagement here.

I still believe that life is measured by the opportunities to be engaged, especially the ones you miss. Being engaged with those around you. Actually listening to the conversations you have. Setting down that phone. Truly being aware of the person on the other side of the coffee mug.

That same mentality though, also goes for being engaged and hyper-aware of your own feelings and intricacies.

Moral of the story? Time is ticking. Tomorrow is a new day. Changes can be little or massive.

I want to be proud of the days, months, and years that I am living. And if I am not, I pray that I’ll have the courage to change it all over again.

After all this, I’m convinced the most beautiful moment in life is the one happening right now.

Let this year be a year of discovery—of myself, of writing again, and most importantly a year of making every day more meaningful.

-UM