Apparently my resting heart rate has improved.
Wonderful.
It never mentioned Sadie wanted me to watch her do a cartwheel.
Or that Abbey has almost stopped asking me to play because, one too many times, she heard, “Give me five minutes.”
We live in incredible times. Our watches know our pulse. Our rings know how we slept. Our phones know how many steps we’ve taken.
Pretty sure my toaster is one software update away from judging my cholesterol.
We’re obsessed with living longer.
Ice baths. Cold plunges. Red light therapy. Blue light blockers.
Supplements with names that sound like rejected Marvel superheroes.
And I’m not against any of it. At all.
Take the walk. Eat the vegetables. Lift the weights. Take care of your body.
I certainly tried.
There was a season when I thought becoming the best version of myself meant optimizing everything.
I tracked my sleep like it was a second job.
Counted every calorie. Measured every heartbeat. Fasted until it hurt. Walked. Ran.
Tweaked. Adjusted.
If broccoli earned airline miles, I could’ve flown it around the world.
I lived like I was training for a race no one had invited me to.
And somewhere in all that optimizing… I forgot to notice my life.
I became incredibly good at improving tomorrow… while accidentally skipping today.
It turns out you can optimize almost everything.
Except a moment you never noticed.
The joke you missed. The sunset you drove past. The dinner you rushed. The Jets winning (actually never true)…
By the way… A few weeks ago I had pizza… and ice cream cake… on the same day.
I hadn’t done that in over twenty years.
It was glorious.
Not because I suddenly stopped caring about my health. Because I finally remembered that life isn’t a math equation you’re supposed to solve.
It’s a gift you’re supposed to enjoy.
Maybe the goal was never to add years to our life. Maybe it was always to add life to our years.
Laugh until your stomach hurts. Watch the fireflies. Call the person you’ve been meaning to call.
Put the phone down. Look up. Stay a little longer (I’m still struggling with that one!)
Watch the cartwheel.
Because one day… they won’t ask you to watch anymore. And one day… your watch will stop counting your steps.
It won’t matter how low your resting heart rate was. Or how many miles you walked. Or how perfectly you optimized your life.
What will matter is whether, while you were busy trying to live longer…
…you remembered to live.
Because I don’t want to arrive at the end of a very long life… only to discover I missed most of it. 
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