Guide Stars Lessons: Later is a Lie
I lost a friend recently. It wasn’t expected (like what loss is…). One minute we were joking around, the next I’m hearing that he’s gone. Just like that. No warning. No time to prepare.
It made me sit with something I don’t usually allow myself to feel. How fragile this whole thing is. Life. Time. Presence. We talk like we’ve got years to sort things out, reconnect, say what needs to be said. But moments like this remind you that we really don’t.
Later is a lie.
We say it all the time.
“I’ll call him later.”
“I’ll fix that later.”
“I’ll rest later.”
“I’ll tell them how I feel… later.”
But the frightening reality of life is that we don’t own one second of it. Not one.
Every breath we take is borrowed. Every morning we wake up is a gift we didn’t earn. And when you lose someone (especially when it’s sudden) it reminds you just how thin the line is between here and gone. It’s like the whole illusion of control shatters in front of you. You realise just how fragile the plan is. You realise how reckless it is to assume there’ll be time.
That’s what hit me. Not just the pain of losing someone I knew, but the realisation that we don’t run this. We don’t control as much as we think. We just get what we get, and when it’s over, that’s it. You don’t get to rewind. You don’t get to say, “Wait, I wasn’t ready.”
And the worst part? Most of the time, we don’t even see it coming. We think we’ve got time to figure things out. Time to call back. Time to say sorry. Time to show up. So we keep pushing things back like we’ve got a contract with life. But we don’t. That’s the part that’s been bothering me.
What’s been helping me is conversation. Talking about it. Saying it out loud. Naming what happened and how it made me feel, even when I didn’t want to.
There’s this voice that creeps in, though. It tells you not to talk. It tells you people are tired of hearing it. It tells you to hold it in and “be strong.” Makes you feel like opening up means you’re being a burden. But that voice is a liar.
The real truth? Talking helps. Especially when you’re talking to people you know are in your corner. People who don’t need you to explain every word, but who get it. People who let you feel what you’re feeling without trying to fix it.
I think sometimes we avoid talking because once we do, it makes it real. We have to admit that the person is actually gone. That this isn’t just a bad dream or a passing mood, it’s something final. And facing that kind of loss feels like surrender.
But if we don’t talk, we carry it wrong. Quietly. Heavily. And it starts showing up in other parts of us: the anger, the distance, the exhaustion we can’t explain. So no, I’m not running from it. I’m talking through it. Because silence doesn’t protect you from pain, it just delays the damage.
I’ve been thinking a lot about presence. About being here, fully. Not drifting through life waiting for the perfect moment to start living. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I think I’ve been preparing myself for loss. Strange to say. Because if you don’t, if you go through life thinking the people you love will always be around, this world will wreck you.
The truth is, most of us aren’t going to die peacefully with our loved ones around the bed. We won’t get time to say everything we need to say. Most of us won’t live out some dramatic bucket list.
And that’s the part that shifted everything for me. Realising that life is the bucket list.
The everyday things. The people you see. The moments you overlook because you’re busy or tired or caught up in something that won’t matter a year from now. This is it. This is all you’re guaranteed.
But that doesn’t have to be a sad thing. In fact, it’s freeing. Because it means you don’t have to wait for something big to start living well. You just have to decide to start showing up. Fully. Intentionally. With a little more heart.
Pay attention. Speak up. Laugh harder. Rest better. Love people while you have them. Not because “time” is running out, but because you still have “now.” That’s the gift. That’s the point. And the best part is, you don’t need a second chance to live differently. You just need today.
“Realize deeply that the present moment is all you ever have. Make the Now the primary focus of your life.” Eckhart Tolle
That’s what I’m trying to do. Not live in fear of the end, but live in full recognition of the now. Because even with everything we lose, even with how uncertain this world feels, there’s still beauty to be found. There’s still time to be present. Still time to make meaning. Still time to live well, not later, but now.
