At 45, if you live to 60, you have about 5,475 days left. That’s it.
To 70, about 9,125 days.
To 80, about 12,775.
And yet, most of us live as if life were a race — each day measured by how much we achieved, how many boxes we ticked, how far we moved ahead of others. Quietly, life itself keeps slipping by — not waiting, not slowing, not asking if we noticed.
Life, in its truest form, rarely shouts. It whispers. In the laughter of our children. In the warmth of sunlight breaking through the curtains. In the peace of a walk where no one demands anything of us.
But here is the truth we rarely face: those whispers are not endless.
They sound like big numbers until you see them for what they are — slips of paper quietly taken from your hand, one by one, every single day.
Time is not being added to you. It is being taken away.
Imagine someone standing in front of you, plucking those slips. This morning, one gone. Tomorrow, another. You never get them back. How does that feel?
That feeling is clarity.
Because when you see time this way, you realize most of what we chase doesn’t matter. The projects, the promotions, the money, the politics, the self-promotion, the fragile battles of ego — none of these will mean much when the slips run out.
What will matter are the things we often overlook while we are busy chasing: caring for our bodies, holding our children close, loving without restraint, living honestly, being awake to the moments that will never return.
When we count in days, not decades, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.
A family meal is not routine — it is one less evening in your hand.
A walk at dusk is not just exercise — it is one fewer sunset you will ever see.
Not everything that feels urgent is important. And not everything important will wait.
Life is not waiting for you somewhere in the future. It is here, in this breath, in this day — one of the slips you still hold.
Every morning, one more will be taken.
So the real question is not how many days do I have?
The real question is: what kind of days will I live?
Because in the end, the only wealth worth holding will be the love we gave, the peace we found, and the depth with which we lived each passing day. Nothing more. Nothing less.