My grandmother died when I was three. My grandfather died when I was four. My great-aunt died when I was five. And so on. A relentless carousel of funerals, soon to include schoolmates, their parents and others taken far too soon.

I learned early and deeply that we haven’t got time for this shit.

Frequently, I ask myself: if this ended right now, would I be roughly where I want to be?

There’s always more to do, more to explore and more impact to make, but I try to minimize my regrets in advance.

I’m hoping for at least another fifty years, and I have plenty to do in that time, but I’m not keeping up with the Joneses.

I’m keeping up with my obituary.