Sometimes I worry that tracking how many days I might have left, if I live to be eighty six, could backfire. What began as a way to feel urgency might one day start to feel like a countdown that makes me question starting anything at all. If there are only so many days left, why spend one on something that might not get finished? That line of thinking shows up more than I would like. But the truth is, not starting because of time is just another form of fear. A quiet one, disguised as practicality. The deeper truth is we do not know how much time we have. That uncertainty is part of what makes starting so important.
I would rather begin and leave things undone than never begin at all. There is something noble in the unfinished. It says I was in motion. I was trying. I was shaping something right up until the end. My shelves are full of half-tested glazes, sketchbooks with ideas that never became pots, and notes to myself about firings that never happened. That is not failure. That is evidence of a working life. A creative life. May I be lucky enough to leave behind more than I could complete. That would mean I stayed in motion.
The passage from The Iliad reminds me that even the strong and the determined do not escape the reach of fate. Zeus lifts the scales, and when the balance shifts, there is no negotiation. What comes, comes. Yet the men below still press forward. They do not stop to wait for certainty. They keep going, even when the outcome is no longer in their favor. That is the part I hold onto. Fear does not cancel out effort. Both can exist at the same time. We are not promised more time—only what is in front of us. This moment. This wheel turning. These mugs drying. This kiln firing. If I hold back waiting for the perfect moment to start, I may never start at all. I would rather be found mid-process, in the middle of making something that mattered.
So I will keep starting. I will keep throwing pots, trimming, writing, sketching, firing, even if I do not know where it will lead or if I will get to see it through. Let the shelves hold some unfinished ideas. Let the notebooks remain open. Let there be traces of a life lived in motion. If the scales tip and my time runs out, I hope someone sees the work and understands that none of it was wasted. Not even the parts I never got to finish.
“But once the sun stood striding at high noon,
then Father Zeus held out his sacred golden scales:
in them he placed two fates of death that lays men low—
one for the Trojan horsemen, one for Argives armed in bronze—
and gripping the beam mid-haft the Father raised it high
and down went Achaea’s day of doom, Achaea’s fate
settling down on the earth that feeds us all
as the fate of Troy went lifting toward the sky.
And Zeus let loose a huge crash of thunder from Ida,
hurling his bolts in a flash against Achaea’s armies.
The men looked on in horror. White terror seized them all.” - The Iliad, by Homer, Book 8
If I were living yesterday a second time:
I would have spent more time with my wife.
Things I am grateful for:
Another day off to relax.
If I get to live to be 86, I only have:
13011 days left.