There is no overtime

A few days ago, my friend, Vanholio!, posted a blog article asking what we’d do if we had only six months to live.

The thing is, we seldom know when those last six months start.

I learned today that a fellow nomad had died. Steve had been in and out of hospitals several times in the past few years and had a sense his end was approaching. Soon. But if there were things he still wished he’d done, he was in no shape to do them.

The last six months might not be about death. We could be alive but physically or mentally unable to do those things we keep putting off.

A friend has crossed a couple of things off her bucket list—not because she has accomplished them, but because her body will no longer allow her to.

Randy (the guy who told me about Steve passing) is losing his vision due to macular degeneration. He’ll eventually have to stop driving, among other things. He now has fewer options for his last six months, whenever they might be.

There are people here at the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous using wheelchairs, mobility devices and canes. There are people with bad backs, bad hips, bad joints, bad bones, damaged tissues, faulty organs. There are those who have trouble breathing or peeing. But they’re all trying, in their own way, to live as if they have only six months left.

A woman I met today said her van was far from being what she wanted, but she’s out seeing the country anyway because she doesn’t want to waste time waiting for the van to be perfect.

You or I might already be in our final six months. So we should start living that way now. If it turns out we have years or decades more time, then wonderful. We would’ve lived the way we wanted, with more chances to keep living that way.