Five to Life

I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately.

I know that sounds morbid, but it’s actually been making me feel more alive.

Every time I think about it, I’m reminded: this isn’t forever.

I picked up a book from one of the little free libraries in our neighborhood called The Beauty of What Remains by Rabbi Steve Leder.

He writes about sitting with families after someone dies — what people remember, what mattered, what lasted.

It’s not what you think.

It’s the small things.

Playing mini golf on a random Sunday.
Making pancakes over a Coleman stove when you’re 10.
A hug at exactly the right moment.

Not the highlight reel. Just the real life.

Around the same time, Tom was getting increasingly agitated by… everything.

AI. Wars. Climate change. Politics. The economy. And the slow death of the combustion engine — which, if you live with a race car driver, feels personal.

At some point he said, “What if we just lived like we had five years left?”

Not one year — too chaotic.
Not twenty — too easy to put things off.

Five felt right.

Short enough to make choices.

Long enough that you don’t eat chocolate cake and ice cream for dinner every night… at least not every night.

He made a list and called it “Five to Life.”

Yes, like a prison sentence. That was intentional.

Because his point is that he's sentencing himself to five years of living his life to the fullest– versus the way so many of us are living life like we’re in a prison sentence of worrying about things we can’t control.

There are two rules:

Don’t be reckless.
Don’t be wasteful.

So no driving a race car without a helmet or fire suit.
And no lighting a campfire with $100 bills.

Just… live like time matters, within reason.

What’s been interesting isn’t just what made the list — it’s what didn’t.

On the list:
Driving Route 66 this summer
Trips we’ve talked about for years (Ireland and New Zealand are now officially competing for our miles)
And the one I’m on a plane to do right now — swimming with Asian small-clawed otters in San Diego (because apparently my happiness is directly tied to proximity to adorable animals)

Also on the list:
Making dinner together
Walking around the neighborhood
Actually talking about things that matter

NOT on the list:
Spending hours talking about things we can’t influence
Consuming endless news
Tasks we feel like we “should” do but don’t really care about
Time with people who drain us

What I didn’t expect is how much the small things matter more when you look at life this way.

Not less.

More.

One thing Rabbi Leder said really stayed with me:

At the end of someone’s life, people remember the ordinary moments just as much as the big ones.

That stopped me.

Because it means we don’t need a dramatic life overhaul to live well.

We’re already in the moments that matter.

If you only had five years left, what would you do?

Not in a hypothetical, philosophical way. In a real, practical way.

What would you actually change?

What would you stop doing?
What would you finally make time for?
Who would you prioritize?
What would you let go of?

And here’s the real question:

What would actually happen if you lived that way now?

Would you be disappointed if five years from now you were still here?

Of course not.

You would have just lived five incredible years.

And if something did happen — to you or someone you love — you wouldn’t be sitting there wishing you had spent more time scrolling Instagram, comparing reviews for the same air fryer you’d already decided to buy, or driving across town to return a $14 Amazon phone charger that isn’t really broken.

You would have spent that time with people you love. Doing things that brought you closer. Living in a way that actually felt like a life worth living.

Kathleen (Episode 1) had just over five years with Mark after his diagnosis, and they made the most of it.

We don’t need a diagnosis to live like that.

We can choose it.

Now.

So I’ll ask you again — not lightly:

If you had five years left, what would you do?

And what’s stopping you from starting?

I’d really love to hear.

I’m so glad you’re here.

With love,
Ariel