“22,000 days
22,000 days
It’s not a lot
It’s all you got
22,000 nights
22,000 nights
It’s all you know
So start the show
And this time, feel the flow…and get it right…”
The above song, titled 𝟮𝟮,𝟬𝟬𝟬 𝗗𝗮𝘆𝘀, written by Graeme Edge and sung by his seminal rock band The Moody Blues, has been part of my life since I was 16 years old and I asked for their album “Long Distance Voyager” for my birthday in 1982.
I played that entire record a lot, start to finish, for many years. Before fixating on it, I don’t recall that I’d ever paid much attention to any music of that era that so blatantly talked about the finiteness of our lives. I mean, how many 16-year-olds do you know who think about such a weighty subject at that age? I wouldn’t say I thought about it a lot, and certainly, I think about it more now, as I approach 60, than I ever have.
But the lyrics were not lost on me back then. The song has a somber quality to it, which always appealed to me; it begins with steady military-sounding percussion and minor notes that give way to slight upturns of hope occasionally, and the opening stanza doesn’t clue you in to what the song is about.
Once the 2nd stanza begins, though, you are hearing them remind you that you have about 60 years on this planet. And then, in the bridge, my favorite line: “Time’s the only real wealth you have got.” Heard, Sir. Heard.
You may have heard of the “𝗠𝘆 𝗟𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀” poster. You can order them online, or print one out.
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It’s a concept popularized by blogger Tim Urban of “Wait But Why” that gives you a clear, concise visual of how much time you have left* in a no-nonsense graphic. It’s not a calendar, really, but a countdown tool, a timer, and a device for reflection and prioritization. I suspect that, for some, it could even be a trigger. (They come with the already-passed bubbles pre-filled for you--which is sobering.)
I first heard about “My Life in Weeks” from author Oliver Burkeman, who penned one of my favorite books ever: 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒔: 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔. Both Urban and Burkeman base their calculations** on a life that lasts 80-90 years or so, as opposed to the bleak 60 years that The Moody Blues sing of. (One might breathe a sigh of relief here; don’t get too cocky, though*. That will trip you up.)
Neither Urban or Burkeman shy away from the truth: our lives are finite. Time to focus on the things that matter, yes? None of us, whether we are 16 or 60 or 89 and a half, should be putting off what we want to accomplish. And all of us should be thinking about that sobering fact, frequently.
Sadly, most people only think about it when they are dealing with the death (or near death) of someone they love…and when that grief begins to fade, so does the urgency of what to do with their remaining weeks. Life takes back over. Focus shifts to getting days back on track and putting food on the table and shoes on the children—as it must.
I’m of the belief that we push aside our “Weeks” calendar at our peril. It will likely not take center stage for us very often, but it should never leave our periphery. Whether we measure it with a printout on the wall, the day-to-day subtle (often maddening) changes in our physical bodies, an app on our phone ***, or the march of the seasons, the truth does not change.
“𝙏𝒊𝙢𝒆’𝒔 𝒕𝙝𝒆 𝒐𝙣𝒍𝙮 𝙧𝒆𝙖𝒍 𝒘𝙚𝒂𝙡𝒕𝙝 𝙮𝒐𝙪 𝙝𝒂𝙫𝒆 𝒈𝙤𝒕.”
How will you spend this most precious coin?
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*Of course, it’s only a guesstimate, since no one truly knows how much time they have left. It’s folly on our parts to believe we do, isn’t it? Life can change in an instant, and there are zero guarantees—which is why we should never assume we will have more time. As I often say, there’s a last time for everything, and it won’t be known to you.
**Again, only a guesstimate
