The Life & Career Questions I Ask Myself Since My Dad’s Unexpected Passing

There is nothing like the self-reflection caused by mortality’s smack in the face.

My dad’s recent and unexpected passing has cemented for me that all we have is time. I don’t mean we have an abundance of it. I mean how we spend it and who we spend it with is all that matters. These actions shape our legacies.

We are all fortunate because the value of time is limitless, and yet it costs nothing. Strangely, time is what lets us recover from heartbreak and loss and, at the same time, moves us closer to our own passing. The spaces in between are the center brownie, the meaty part of a sandwich, the gooey insides of a cinnamon roll.

I have learned over the past two months that you think a lot about your mortality when you lose someone you love. You take inventory of how you might feel or what you might think if your clock, at least for life on Earth, was about to stop. The eight questions below are the ones that continually swirl in my mind during quiet moments. The asking part is easy. The answering, reflecting, and redirecting are the ongoing work.

Am I present in the moments that matter?

For me, this is about balancing thoughts of the past and the future while appreciating what I’m accomplishing today. It’s looking people in the eye and really listening. It’s observing the leaves of my life as they change colors and not just suddenly noticing their new hue.

Am I passionate about my work, have I nurtured my talents, and have I connected the two?

Given the world’s current circumstances, we are all grasping for more capacity to think and do. It is hard to pause. But the crucial question I am working to answer is where I should put in more effort or change course.

Am I doing a good job maintaining relationships with friends and extended family?

I am now acutely aware that putting off reaching out could mean I miss my opportunity. I aspire to prioritize phone calls and visits, bring people together more, and tell my friends and family members how much they mean to me.

Is fear or pride preventing me from trying something new?

We can all be good at justifying ‘why not’ when fear or pride is what is getting in the way. I’ve been asking myself if there are new experiences or career aspirations I have not initiated because they make me slightly uncomfortable.

Do I have a good perspective on life’s real challenges vs. ones I am privileged to have?

I might view something as a problem while someone else might view it as a gift. We each have challenges of varying degrees, but my goal is to consistently distinguish a ‘first world’ problem from a real struggle and reframe my response.

Have I identified what brings me joy, and do I have a plan to achieve more of it?

Family, fishing, and bargain hunting brought my dad tremendous joy. I have been taking inventory of the hobbies, people, and experiences that bring me the greatest joy to create a more robust toolkit for combating life’s dull days.

Do my kids and spouse feel the depths of my love for them?

I say, “I love you,” a lot to my kids and husband. It’s important, but it’s not enough. I’ve been asking myself if I can be more intentional with my actions to reinforce that they are my top priority.

How am I performing as a human who is part of a broader community?

My dad was generous and welcoming. I want to have more “yes” answers to questions such as do I know my neighbors, do I smile and say “hello” when someone walks by, or do I support the causes I believe in? Or the most important one: have I recently done something kind for someone else?

I usually associate optimizing time with productivity. Now I look at it through a slightly different lens. Optimizing time is also about making the right tradeoffs to maximize doing the things and being with the people you care about. To solidify a legacy of growth, love, and kindness. The rhyme that repeats in my mind is, “all we have is time, so what’s your storyline?”

What is yours going to be?

I miss my dad tremendously. I have said, “this all feels too final,” a lot over the past two months. There was more to say and do. The shirt I took from his house two months ago barely smells like him anymore. The scent of detergent and cologne is gone.

But his legacy persists. And the way I can honor his memory is to continue to improve how I answer these questions. Though we cannot slow time, what a privilege we each have to choose how we spend what remains on the clock.