I’m in Santa Fe this week. Went to a meeting this morning and a guy shared something that’s been sitting with me all day.
He said stop counting the days you have left. Count the days you’ve already spent. Count the ones you wasted and can’t get back.
That’s a different math than the one most of us run. We do the “how much time do I have left” version because it feels like motivation. It’s not. It’s usually just anxiety wearing a productivity costume.
Counting what’s already spent is harder. It makes you look at actual days, not hypothetical ones. A Tuesday you spent numb. A weekend you spent resentful. Six months you spent waiting for something to change instead of changing it.
31 years sober and I still have days like that. Fewer than I used to, but they happen.
Here’s what got me. He wasn’t talking about guilt. He wasn’t telling us to punish ourselves for lost time. He was asking a simpler question: if you knew today was the only day left, would you spend it the way you’re about to spend it?
Most days, my honest answer is no. I’d call my kids. I’d finish the thing I’ve been circling for two weeks. I’d tell someone what I actually think instead of what’s easy to say.
That’s the point of the exercise. It’s not about death. It’s about attention.
Recovery runs on the same idea, just smaller. One day at a time isn’t a slogan I say out of habit anymore. It’s the only unit of time that’s ever actually been mine to work with. Not the year. Not the decade I’ve got sober now. Today.
I don’t know how many days I’ve wasted. I stopped trying to count those a long time ago because the number doesn’t help me. What helps is the question underneath it: what am I doing with this one?
I’m going to go find out what Santa Fe looks like at sunset instead of writing about it. Feels like the right call today.