Being Present in Your Life
The Last Time.
Two years ago, my brother-in-law passed away unexpectedly. Today we mark the second year without him. His absence is still sharp, but it’s also softened into a reminder — one I return to often — about the fragility and preciousness of our days.
When someone leaves your life so suddenly, you can’t help but think about all the “last times” you shared without knowing it. The last laugh over Thanksgiving dinner. The last casual text or wave goodbye. You rarely recognize those moments for what they are while you’re living them. They just slip quietly into memory — ordinary, until suddenly they’re not.
This awareness has changed the way I see even the simplest rituals—both the joyful and the hard. On a walk with a friend the other day, she mentioned how her little one hasn’t been sleeping well, waking her up night after night. And it struck me—there will be a last time her child calls out in the dark. Just as there will be a last time she lifts them into her arms as they grow older.
This applies to so many moments in our lives—good and bad. Each time you do something, it is one less time you will do it. While we don’t have kids of our own, I can relate. Our 16-year-old pup has been waking us up every morning at 4 a.m. for no real reason. And still I know, at this stage in his life, I may have already thrown a tennis ball into the ocean for him for the last time.
These ordinary, sometimes annoying and sometimes joyful moments may be the last time—you just don’t know.
I used to kitesurf years ago, and one day, after a rather scary accident, I unknowingly packed my board away for the last time. At the time, I assumed there would be more rides, more waves, more windy afternoons on the water. But life doesn’t always announce the ending. That truth applies everywhere — from the grand adventures to the small, daily rhythms of life.
This is why presence matters. It’s why I encourage guests on retreat, and myself in daily life, to savor. To taste the meal, not just eat it. To feel the sun on your face during a walk, not just check off the steps. To let a thank you carry its full weight.
Attention, I’ve come to believe, is our greatest source of wealth. More than time. Because you can waste time distracted — but when you pay attention, you transform the moment into something meaningful.
Mindfulness isn’t about perfect stillness; it’s about returning. Each time you notice you’ve drifted and gently come back, you’re training your mind to wake up. Again and again.
And maybe that’s the invitation. To wake up to the life you’re in. To remember that every moment might be the last time — which makes it precious beyond measure.
