What Will You Say on Your 99th Birthday?
Just had another birthday.
Another one!
They just keep piling up.
Imagine it’s your 99th birthday.
Your children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren form a devoted circle around you as you sit quietly, reflecting on a life well lived.
“We want to know what you know, Grandma,” they say to you.
What would your top 10 pearls of wisdom be?
I was at a workshop recently where the facilitator encouraged us to think about our lists and imagine who we would share it with. He said, “You can even pick up a photograph of someone you care about and share the list with the person in the photo.”
I immediately thought of this picture of my son Duncan and I—where he holds my face, laughing, listening joyfully to whatever I am saying. And I asked myself, “What would I want to share with him?”
In the workshop, I took my red Flair pen to paper, and in five minutes, here is what flowed out:
Trust the universe. Remember the universe always has your back and you are supported.
Take care of your body. It’s the only one you have.
Easy does it. Don’t make a big deal out of small stuff.
Go big and go home. Go for it. But remember to come home to visit your mom.
Claim your art—whatever that is. Whether it’s poetry, music, painting, creativity—claim it!
It’s not all about you. Give to others.
Do your work—do yoga, meditation, therapy, coaching, whatever you need to support you to be your best self.
Love your family.
Play with your kids. I wished I had played with you more!
Write things down—or journal—because you won’t remember so much of your beautiful life.
The following week, I drove to Massachusetts to Duncan’s college town to take him out to dinner. A copy of my list was in my purse—I figured I would pull it out if it felt right. I even thought about typing it up, but decided he’d probably prefer my imperfect scrawl.
After we ate, as we were getting to read, I shared it with him. As I read each statement, he listened intently. I was a little teary. When I read #3, “Easy Does It,” we both laughed—Duncan already knows that one. He came into this life to teach me that principle.
When I finished, Duncan carefully folded the piece of paper and put it in his jacket pocket.
“I’m putting this in my box,” he said.
He was referring to a small wooden box in his closet—he keeps favorite memories from his life there. I smiled—knowing that it would be there right next to ticket stubs from championship football games, notes from old girlfriends, and other things I am not allowed to read.
I try to regularly take pictures of the two of us together so he has plenty of memories for that memory box that include me. This photo is from a whale watch we went on this summer.
And for you, dear friend: Don’t wait to make your list. Make it now. What you have to share with the world might surprise you.
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