What If You Only Had Two Years To Live?

Boomers might remember a TV show from the mid-1960s called “Run For Your Life”. Actor Ben Gazzara played Paul Bryan, an attorney who is told by his doctor that he has less than two years to live.  Bryan decides to try and cram thirty years of living into that two years.

He travels the world, helps other people solve their problems, lives life to the fullest. The disease this character has actually does exist and is terminal, but doesn’t affect quality of life all that much until the end.

So what would you do if you knew you only had two years to live?

Quit your job? Travel? Eat and drink like there is no tomorrow, because, well, there isn’t? Help other people?  Help yourself?

Being the skeptic that I am, I’d probably waste the first few months trying to prove the diagnosis was incorrect. After realizing the doctors were probably right, I’d quit my job. Then I’d travel to see friends I love but don’t currently do nearly enough to spend in-person time with. And I’d travel to other places I’ve always wanted to visit, like Italy, England, Australia and Wyoming. I’d donate time and money to charities, especially the ones representing whatever disease was part of the diagnosis.

Another question: why do so many of us put off truly living? What prevents us from living like we were dying?

Lack of time and lack of money are certainly co-conspirators when it comes to setting up roadblocks to living full lives. Being told you only have two years left both adds to and erases the ‘lack of time’ issue. If you’ve been saving money for the future, and you’re told you have only two years of future left, you could just spend it all on the present.

My Dad was a great planner and saver. He envisioned a great debt-free retirement. Then he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, just a few years short of his planned retirement and at the age I am now.  That disease didn’t necessarily shorten his life - he lived another sixteen years - but it eventually robbed him of the spectacular quality of life he had up to the point of diagnosis. He continued to work longer than planned and his retirement basically sucked. He had time and some money, but was physically and eventually mentally unable to do most of what he had hoped to do in retirement.

If I only had one year left, I’d take extended trips to spend time with friends and family in Hawaii, North Carolina, Colorado, Washington, Virginia, Louisiana, Wisconsin, England and Texas. I’d revisit the Grand Canyon. I’d spend a month in Italy. I’d try to visit the ten U.S. states I haven’t been to yet. I’d try to be a verbal and written public figure advocating research to find a cure for whatever it was that led to that sad diagnosis.

All of this “what I would do” contemplation brings me back to the “why not now” question.

My answer to that question could be found in one word: balance. I think it is possible to find a balance between planning for the future and living for today. That is the lesson I might have learned from my Dad’s experience. Although I think he gave up way too much present for the sake of the future, he did find his own version of balance. We did take family vacations every summer; many of them were two weeks long. We had fun on Sundays, like taking short drives to interesting places within an hour of home, or hanging out with relatives, or playing cards or scrabble.

My girlfriend and I work our asses off at jobs better suited to the energy levels of 30-year-olds, but we also do try to protect our weekends whenever possible. However, that work/life balance is still too far on the side of work and we are both trying to spend more time living.

Even if resources are limited and even if there is a strong desire to be prepared for old age, it is possible to carve out some time to live in the present. We should all try to find that balance between planning for the future and living for today.