If you lived every day like it’s your last day, you’d be one big, sad, sobbing, sniffing mess, thinking of all the people you’d be leaving behind and all the stuff you were yet to do. You’d spend every day in bed cradling a box of Kleenex, feeling terribly sorry for yourself. Better choice is to live every day like it’s your first.
First days are amazing days. One your first day of a holiday you can’t wait to dump your bags and jump in the pool, hit the beach, then hit the bar. The last day of your holiday, you spend packing up and reminiscing about all the other days of your holiday.
The first day someone meets that special somebody is way more exciting than the 16,473rd day. There is something magical in the new and unexpected of what lies ahead that makes hearts skip and minds think of nothing else.
The first time I went to a Springsteen concert was more amazing than the next three times. Not particularly because it was a better concert, but because it was the first time I was seeing my childhood hero on stage, instead of on a poster.
My 3-month old daughter is seeing everything for the first time and she can’t keep the smile of her cute, pinchable face. Everything from her brother’s hair to the buttons on my shirt blows her mind. She hasn’t been to the beach yet, or seen snow, or ridden a rollercoaster, but when she does, she’ll love it.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe we can all learn something from these little people who haven’t really learned anything yet: to see the awesome in the every day, the excitement in the average and the beautiful in the boring—to live every day like it’s your first.
I’ll try and take my own advice today as I sit at the same desk I’ve sat at for five years, doing the same sort of stuff. Of well, at least there’s a window I can look out of.