Nothing is promised

So do the thing now.

Photo by Dewang Gupta on Unsplash

It’s a phrase that was first introduced to me at the ‘Surf Life’ retreat (now known as VysionQuest) that Jamie and I attended in Bali in September of 2014. Our participation in that retreat, so fortuitous in how it came about, was absolutely life-changing for me. It was the first time I’d ever experienced coaching, the first time I’d been asked to really consciously think about what mattered to me in life, and perhaps most life-altering, it was when I began to believe that following my inspiration and my excitement was a valid way to move through life, rather than simply being guided by fears or worries or conventions.

That week was an incredible unfolding within me, as I began to really dig deep into the people and things that excited and inspired me, and started to let myself believe that I was actually capable of becoming the person I wanted to be and creating the kind of life that I wanted to live. In the time since that retreat, almost 10 years now, Jamie and I moved countries and now live by the ocean (a shared goal that came out of that retreat), I changed careers (to become a coach myself, which I’d felt during that week was exactly what I was meant to become), and I went on what could only be described as a 5 year health odyssey, completely changing my diet, lifestyle, and psychological / emotional / spiritual landscape in order to finally feel healthy and vital again. Some pretty major things.

When I think back to that week, I feel such a sense of lightness and possibility, like the secrets of the universe were revealing themselves to me at just the moment I was ready to receive them. It was such a magical time, and the bonds we formed with our fellow participants had a depth to them I would later come to understand as the kind of bonds that are formed when people are being super real and vulnerable and open, and are all doing deep work together. They’re the same type of bonds I feel with my incredible CTI cohort and my Writer’s Club too.

I remember crying during the opening exercise the first morning, catching myself completely off guard by choking up as I shared what I had discovered with the group. The exercise had been to write our own eulogy. Imagining you’ve led a long full life, how would you want to be remembered? Not a subtle entry into the land of “What really matters to you?”, but that’s precisely the point. When it comes down to it, we’re all going to die, so how exactly do we want to live the days that are grated to us?

I don’t remember exactly when Rick, the coach who ran the retreat, first used the phrase “nothing is promised”, but it really stuck with me. To the point that there was a period after the retreat when I toyed with the idea of getting it tattooed on the inside of my wrist. It felt too dark somehow, too open to misinterpretation, but then who cares what anyone else really thinks of it if I know what it means? Anyway, I still haven’t gotten a tattoo yet (one of my retreat goals that hasn’t yet come to pass), but the phrase sticks with me. It’s a bit of a wake up call to someone like me who’s always been a bit of a procrastinator, especially on things I’m simultaneously really excited about, and scared to take the first step. I’ll do it later. I’ll get to it another time. Maybe next year, and on and on.

But nothing is promised. There might not be a next year for me. There might not be a tomorrow. Sure we all take these things for granted, but truly nothing is promised. Life can end in an instant, and when we die, so many unfulfilled dreams die along with us. It’s a sobering thought, but like with the eulogy exercise, it cuts straight through the bs and to the heart of what really matters.

So “nothing is promised” can be really serious and feel kind of heavy, but it can also be light and simple. I’ve been reminded of it the last two days during these strange rainy / sunny / stormy / sunshower days we’ve been having in San Francisco, after some very wet days earlier this week. Both yesterday and today the mornings were gorgeous, that pavement still wet after the rain kind of morning, with brilliant blue skies and greener than green grass. Both days, I told myself I’d get us out for a walk asap, and both days time dragged on and on, and asap turned into hours after we’d gotten up. By the time we got out the door yesterday, it had completely clouded over and was sprinkling on our walk to FedEx (oh the glamour of my days is unmatched).

Today I kept trying and trying to get Ava out the door, and just before I did I looked out the window to see a beautiful rainbow over the bay. I picked her up and showed her, telling her that we were going to go outside to take a walk to the water and look at the beautiful rainbow. In the time it took us to get shoes and coats on and get down the stairs, the rainbow had completely faded, and by the time I got her strapped into her stroller and on the move, the first drops of rain started to fall. Within a minute it was pouring, and I ran us back home, getting soaked in the seconds between locking the garage and entering the front door of the building. All of my excitement all morning to get out in the sunshine and take us for a walk to the beach, and instead Ava practiced climbing up and down the stairs in the building in her cheerful yellow raincoat.

It was such a good reminder to me to just get out the door when the day is calling to me, rather than making sure the dishes are finished or my teeth are brushed, or whatever else keeps pushing what I really want to do further and further away. Even the rainbow through the window, next time I’ll just stand there and enjoy it with Ava as it is, rather than trying to hustle downstairs and catch it “later”. Nothing is promised, after all, and rainbows especially are incredibly fleeting.

So whatever that thing is, the visit, the “I love you”, the apology, or even just the walk or the dance class or the fun outfit you haven’t found a chance to wear yet. Do it now. Nothing is promised. So get out there and do the things that really matter. I’ll be over here trying to do the same.