My 30-Day Countdown

My 30-Day Countdown: The Month I Never Planned For

My coworker visited his 96-year-old uncle in the hospital last month. He expected a routine check-in. What he witnessed instead was something he never saw coming.

During the doctor's floor rounds, the doctor turned to the family gathered around the bed. The condition would probably not improve, he said. His uncle had, roughly, one month left to live. He said this in front of his uncle.

My coworker told me this episode at work, almost in passing. I couldn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

I was surprised I never took time to ponder on my end date seriously. It seems to be far away. I thought more about living to a hundred so I spend more time on my 10-year plan, 20-year plan instead. It just shows me how unprepared or unwilling I am to face that final curtain call. I think society in general is no different.

If I Had Thirty Days Left: 30-Day Plan vs. a 10-Year Plan

The Question I'd Never Answered

I've spent years sitting across from people in crisis as a psychotherapist. I've also spent decades in helping professionals sequence their priorities as a project portfolio manager. Between those two chairs, I've asked hundreds of people hard questions about what matters to them.

I had never asked myself this one directly:

if I had thirty days left, what would I actually do?

So I ran the experiment on myself because I like to see something urgent and tangible, not just blue sky thinking. I am also curious to find out what can be distilled from this activity. I gave myself a 30-day countdown, and I came up with a list in a matter of 10 minutes on my keyboard.

The List

1. I would call my boss and quit, immediately. Say goodbye. Say thank you. I really appreciate that he took a risk to hire a 65-year-old stranger as Project Advisor, to be his trusted right-hand. I would acknowledge his leadership skills of being present, empathetic, and accountable. He gave me space to shape my work, he listened when I raised concerns and we built solutions together.

2. I would send a short note to my colleagues, thanking them for their friendship and support. This is not easy because I had so much fun engaging with them for two years. We interacted daily through our stand-ups, we solved tough problems together, and we celebrated our success with West Coast hospitality. Sushi lunches. yogurt parfaits. Ice-cream Thursdays.

3. I would make a list of the people I want to tell. These are the people that come up as top of mind, probably less than 15, not including family.

4. I would start scheduling time with them, in this order: my mom, my husband and children, my grandchildren, my siblings, my husband's extended family, my nieces and nephews, my children's in-laws, my close friends. 

When I see them, I will tell each of them how unique they are; I will point out their strengths, talents; I will thank them for being there; I will hug them; I will encourage them to live each day fully and dare to dream new dreams. 

5. I would pull out my will. Update the asset list. Make sure every bank account, every RRSP and RRIF (penion accounts), every life insurance policy number is written down clearly enough for my children to follow without me.

6. While everyone else slept, I would sort through my belongings. Set the important things aside. Label them with instructions, so the people I love know exactly what to do. I need to maximize my day time so I will stay late to do this. 

7. I would stop caring about exercise entirely. With 30 days left, I no longer need to care about high cholesterol; I am not fond of exercise anyways. Every remaining second would go to clearing my computer files, saving what matters, writing down passwords somewhere they'd be found. 

8. I would write goodbye notes. To my family. To extended family. To close friends. A LinkedIn post, if there was time. A blog post on my website, if there was time. For my family, I really don't want to leave them. I want to continue witnessing their growth, hearing their laughter, sharing their pain, and having dinners with them. I need to write to my husband, my four children, and my four grandchildren. Each with a thoughtful note that might as well be a love letter. It's love between two imperfect persons that started all this! I need time to write to each one of them. With 30 days left, I must start immediately. The goodbye note to my husband will probably start with:

Dear xxx, it's been 44 years of an imperfect union, a partnership, many trials, and an uphill journey. I do not expect to be the one leading the descent. I want to acknowledge your steadfast love and commitment toward me, our children, and our grandchildren. I married you at twenty three and had no idea you would be such a loving and caring father, grandpa… 

9. I would update my website. Thank the people who've followed along. Say goodbye. Point them toward others doing this similar work on meaning and purpose. I want to encourage them to continue lifelong learning. Their lives are worthwhile; they have untapped potential; and living life to the fullest is possible, but it takes intention and commitment.

10. I would email my current PAL cohort. Tell them I'm leaving. Apologize for not being able to finish what we started. Explain that I have to stop right away, but their purpose alignment journey will continue.

The 30-Day Countdown List

It took me two decades to finally launch the Purpose Alignment Lab program. The hours spent on studying, theorizing, reflecting, building the course, planning the workshops, writing promotional copies, launching a YouTube platform to spread the message, can no longer generate any ROI. This is it: someone else may pick up this mission, this work. I feel devastated thinking about this harsh reality. However, I have no regrets about coming this far. It is essential to start this program and keep learning. I caused a few ripples outward while living my purpose. It's never the size of the crowd that matters. Real impact will outlive me. That’s what legacy is all about.

What's Left Standing

When I ran this list all the way through, one thing became obvious.

Everything on it can be dropped. The full-time job. The PAL workshop I built and love. The Domain name I stubbornly hold on to. The website I've spent years growing. Someone else can pick up every one of those threads. And there was relief in that too, not just loss. I had already lived my purpose. Whatever came next for the work was no longer mine to carry. 

Nothing on the list replaces time with the people I love. Not one item comes close. 

And the last thing I noticed: being prepared isn't morbid. It's a form of love. Writing down where the passwords are, where the policy numbers live, so the people I leave behind don't have to search for them while they're grieving, that's not about death. That's about making the end easier for the ones who stay. 

Now that I have this list, I confirm what matters the most. I can actually start making decisions of what my priorities are tomorrow and every day. 

Call to Action

I encourage you to do this experiment in one sitting. It took me less than 10 minutes to come up with the list. When I reread this list two hours later, I did not have new items to add. This is quite accurate.

What if you were told that you have one month to live?

What will you do with your 30 days countdown?

I am curious to know how your experiment goes. Share it in the comments below.