Philosophy Friday: Every Day Is A Bonus

Photo by Federico Respini on Unsplash

“Let us prepare our minds as if we’d come to the very end of life. Let us postpone nothing. Let us balance life’s books each day. The one who puts the finishing touches on their life each day is never short of time.”

 — Seneca 

You woke up this morning—you’re alive. Many people are not so lucky. Thousands of people died last night while you were sleeping. What would they give to live one more day?

How about this idea: In the morning when you wake up imagine you had died in your sleep. Would you then not be overjoyed to learn you had another day? That today has been gifted to you as a bonus—for you to enjoy as you see fit.

With such a special gift in hand, life’s little obstacles, the ones that usually get us upset, would be no problem. You’d even welcome them as a kind of confirmation that you’re still alive. 

Someone cuts you off in traffic? You’d be calm and collected. Maybe you’d even chuckle to yourself knowing how this would have infuriated you before. Is your boss is in one of his sullen moods? Water off a duck’s back. Nowhere near wiping that perpetual grin off your face. Someone wasting your time? Tell them where to go. Today is your special bonus day, and one thing you’re not going to do is spend it on timewasters.

We don’t know on which day we’ll die, so as a policy treating each day as a bonus makes a lot of sense. After all, we could be dead tomorrow. 

Today really is special—you won’t ever get this day again. Time is your only non-renewable resource. You can regain lost money and possessions. But not time. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.

Always imagining you’d died last night, but the gods have gifted you a bonus day, will do much to spruce up your remaining days. 

“What man can you show me who places any value on his time, who reckons the worth of each day, who understands that he is dying daily? For we are mistaken when we look forward to Death; the major portion of Death has already passed. Whatever years be behind us are in Death’s hands.”

 — Seneca