Twenty.

The number isn’t all that meaty on its own, but it’s no mere three-hundred-sixty-five. It can encompass a lifetime or act as just a beginning. You could fall in love, marry, have crumb-munchers, divorce, and die five times over, all within twenty years, and without any sweats given! Well, maybe not die, depending on your definition. Or, you could sit around and slowly fiddle your thumbs…wondering what happened to the time.

7,305 days can pass by like a polaroid — the memory of it taken, instantly developed, and just as instantly faded… damaged by light and the random flotsam and jetsom you keep stored alongside the snapshot.*

*Purses/bags/wallets/keepsake boxes being purses/bags/wallets/keepsake boxes and all.

…

In retrospect, the time spent agonizing over the day-to-days has mostly been a waste of time (in the grand scheme, of course!). In the moment, we’re consumed. Consumed with the work, and the bills, and the idea of being in a relationship (notice I said idea of), and the bills. But ask any non-crotchety elder (preferably non-crotchety) what they wish they had done more of, etc.

They tend to say things like “go for the heart’s desire,” or, “spend more time with loved ones,” or, “not care so much what others think,” or, my favorite, “bed that Saucy Sandy Jenkins,” because apparently she was a real “hot cookie.”

It comes down to the experiences one has had, the memories made, and the people that helped make ’em. This should be our focus, but it often isn’t. And in twenty years, we can lose sight of those memories, those others, and ourselves.

…

Our Second+ Twenty’s

While the first twenty is all about learning — learning the ropes of this idiotic society and its idiotic parameters with some idiotic people and some not so much (much love to the Not So Muches!) — the second+ twenty’s should be about discovery and implementation. And also realizing how lucky we are to have made it to the “legal” drinking age (in the U.S., that is).

We might forget that some never arrive at this second waypoint, taking how far we’ve come for granted — never, or hardly ever, evaluating the true passing of time, what we have accomplished and/or learned within our first twenty-plus-year chunk. Well, I speak for myself.

I floated. Doing what was expected rather than truly going after what I desired/felt I deserved deep down. Now, the chunks have been quickly heaved, and I find myself pondering: What would I do for the next twenty if I knew I only had twenty left?

Kick That F*Ckin’ Bucket!

Obviously, at forty-almost-four, my priorities (and abilities, if we’re being honest) have shifted from what they were at twenty. While I’m trying to figure out ways to break myself of this thinking, I am limited in how, what, where, and when I can complete these magical little desires that’ll make my death bucket less full.

I’ve poured in quite a few gallons of dreams at this point, which has led to a bit of rust and slosh. But I’m starting to understand that there is still an ebbing and flowing that occurs in a mostly stagnant body of wishes water. A little bit out, a lotta bit in is still progress!

And, we all don’t have to have those conquering-kilimanjaro-level aspirations. Emptying your death bucket even a bit to fill your personal satisfaction cup is all that is needed. Graduating high school might equate to Caspian-Sea-level depth to an individual, while another’s hopes of space travel are considered merely a sip.

Regardless of your level of death water, or what your bucket holds, you still have to kick it. You still have to take sips, gulps, or one long-lasting slurp that’ll leave you feeling f*cking refreshed. Again, twenty years can flash by, our authentic selves reeling from the whiplash of unrealized hopes when viewed in retrospect.

But there is that one important question that I posed earlier that we should ask ourselves more often to bring it all into perspective — to get our salivary glands revving and our dehydration satiated.

At times, it is the only thing we should be asking ourselves…not whether the jeans make me look like a whale or whether Jimmy noticed my newly formed pimple. Not whether I should approach so-and-so, or accomplish whats-it-what. Not whether this fill-in-the-blank that’ll obviously not fulfill me in any way possible will fulfill me, because it won’t. We just need to take it one step at a time, but also maybe think in twenty’s. And ask ourselves:

What would you do if you learned today that there were only twenty years left to your name?

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean?

My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me

The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex

The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence

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