Most self-help posts open with a pep talk. This isn’t one of those. This is for the man who wakes up a few weeks before his 64th birthday and wonders if it all passed him by. It’s a quiet reckoning—not to fix everything, but to name the ache and figure out what the hell to do with it.
There’s a point where you stop negotiating with yourself. Where the talking, trying, and tiptoeing ends. This is The Done Moment—when the pain gets sharp enough, the truth gets loud enough, and you finally move. No turning back. Just forward.
We meant to meet for breakfast. I never followed through. It’s been 22 years, and somehow the past feels closer than anything I’ve done since. A quiet reflection on time, regret, and the fragile hope we keep tucked in our pockets.
At some point, survival becomes its own kind of burden. You didn’t die. You didn’t vanish. You didn’
