I have 432 months left to live (if I’m lucky). So I filled a jar with 432 marbles and started removing one a month to remind myself to live more boldly.

Here's what happened.

Small note before the essay.
(I tried to put this at the end. It felt too late there.)

The following Marble Jar Tool is from my new book: Your To-Die-For Life. My book’s about joy and regret. And how time doesn’t wait for you to finish clearing your inbox before it takes your father. Or your thirties. Or the version of yourself who still believed productivity = purpose.

Tickled/Honored about the praise my book has received…

Jenny Lawson (NY Times Bestselling author) said: “Fascinating! Who knew trauma and death could be so inspirational?”

AJ Jacobs (NY Times Bestselling author) said: “This is not only the funniest book about death I’ve ever read, it’s also an inspiring, useful guide for living with greater joy and purpose . . . and less fear and regret.”

Plus lots more…

If you want to order my book here, I’d be grateful.

If you already have, thank you.

Anywhichway, I hope something in today’s essay reminds you: You’re still here. There’s still time.

Now here’s the essay….

When I turned sixty-four last summer, I began to count.

Not calories. Not steps. Not gray hairs.

No, I started to count months.

I did the math and realized I had (theoretically/optimistically) only 432 months left to live.

Well, if I managed to make it to 100. That’s the age I promised my son Ari I’d try for.

(He asked me to live to 200. I bargained him down. He accepted my counter offer.)

Anyway… when I realized I had about 432 months left, that number was a wake-up call.

At first glance, it felt like a big number.

But the more I sat with it, the smaller that number appeared to be.

Let me put this 432 number into perspective for you…

• 432 is fewer than the number of Law & Order episodes.

• 432 dollars wouldn’t cover most rents.

• 432 calories? That’s a muffin. A small one

Let me tell you: When you start to think of your life in terms of 432 months, it does something to you

The reality of your limited time on Earth becomes glaringly obvious.

In fact, I believe one of the big problems with life is that it doesn't come with a progress bar. You can’t glance down and see: “Ah yes, my life is 64% complete.”

So I decided to turn that abstract 432-month countdown into something unavoidably real.

How?

I ordered 432 marbles and 2 glass jars.

• The first jar I called "The Future." And I put those 432 marbles inside of it.

• The second jar I called "The Past." It started off empty. Then each month I began to fill it up with a new marble that I transferred over from “The Future” jar.

I’ve been doing this monthly countdown for 8 months.

The jars sit together on my kitchen counter, by the window, impossible to ignore, like the world's most passive-aggressive timekeeper.

Let me tell you: This marble tool works!

When you can literally see your life running out of months, one small glass ball at a time, you become far more aware of how you spend your time. Suddenly stupid grudges seem like luxuries you can't afford. And mediocre toxic friendships become obvious time-sucks.

Basically, these marble jars are terrific bullsh*t detectors.

They ask one simple question about everything:

• "Is this really worth a piece of my life?”

My marble ritual has evolved a lot since the very first month I started it.

On my first month, I stood in front of the two jars, coffee in hand, dogs circling my ankles with their usual morning "feed me or I'll trip you walking to the bathroom" dance.

I reached into "The Future" jar and selected a marble.

It was an iridescent blue one, that changed colors in the light.

"This was September,” I thought as I looked it over.

Next, I asked myself: “So, what did I do with my September?”

I tried to remember.

• Ah, yes, I had that dental implant issue. I watched an entire season of a forgettable show. I avoided calling my brother back after that stupid fight. I ordered too much takeout.

I mean, yeesh. Is that what I spent 1/432nd of my remaining life doing?

That? Seriously?

I dropped the marble into "The Past" jar. It hit the glass bottom with a hollow plink sound that might as well have been a tiny gong of judgment.

“I need to do better,” I said to the dogs.

They agreed. But then again, they’ll usually say anything for a biscuit.

In the second month the ritual evolved.

I brewed some coffee and sat at the kitchen table with a journal.

No dogs. No phone. No distractions.

Just an honest reckoning with the past month behind me and the future one dangling ahead.

I removed a yellow swirled marble from the Future Jar, and stared at it.

I thought about what happened in this recent month of October.

Next, I journaled a bit on the following questions.

• Did I tell people I love them enough… or did I just send heart emojis and hope they interpreted that as my loving appreciation?

• Did I move the needle on the videos I want to start making…or did I just watch YouTube videos about moving the needle?

• Did I help anyone?

• Laugh until my stomach hurt?

• Take long walks outside?

• Make anything with my hands?

Then I ended with this question:

• What will I be furious at myself for not doing in the month ahead?

By the third month, I was a total pro at this Marble Mortality Ritual.

I think this was because at this point I knew I’d have to report back to the marbles.

They’d become my live-in accountability buddies and 24-hour spiritual advisors.

Every time I’d walk into the kitchen, I’d see the jars twinkling in the window, and feel a sudden surge of motivation to kick up my life a notch.

For example, one day I got a text from an old friend who was passing through town.

She wanted to meet up. Spontaneously.

Pre-marbles, I would have made an excuse. I was tired. It was raining. My hair looked like I'd styled it with a leaf blower.

But those marble jars on my kitchen counter whispered to me: "How many more marbles will you get with this person?"

So I went. We talked for four hours in a crappy diner.

She told me about her divorce, her new career, her mother's dementia.

I told her about my marbles.

"That's dark," she said, dunking a fry in ketchup.

"Darker than pretending we're not all heading toward the same destination?" I asked.

She considered this while chewing. "Fair point. Can I see a photo of these doom jars?"

I showed her. She stared at my phone for a long time.

"I think I need marbles," she finally said.

Soon the jars were encouraging me to do all kinds of strange things—good strange things.

I started calling my friend Beth instead of texting. The first time, she answered with panic in her voice.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," I said. "I just wanted to hear your voice."

After a pause, she said, "I forgot what your laugh sounds like."

We talked for forty-seven minutes.

Plus post-marbles, I’ve started swimming five days a week.

Not simply for fitness reasons. But because I love the feeling of water holding me up, like the world's gentlest hammock.

And I've become much more ruthless with my time.

I’ve stopped hanging out with people who drain me.

I’ve finally admitted I dislike yoga. Not in a “maybe it’s the teacher” way. But in a blunt “I simply dislike yoga” way.

Plus, I’ve stopped finishing books that I don’t enjoy. I even put one book down mid-sentence… because I recognized that the book just didn't speak to me. And life is too short for books that feel like homework.

At this point I’m on the eighth month of my Marble Mortality Ritual.

Now, when I walk into the kitchen, I can see that the Future jar is growing lighter and lighter.

But when I walk out into the world, I can feel how my life is becoming fuller and fuller.

Before the marbles, I used to wait.

For the right time. For better circumstances. For when things might calm down.

Post-marbles, I tell myself to do things now.

I remind myself that I don’t have infinite time. I have 419, 418, 417….

Before the marbles, I used to rush through life.

Every day felt like a blur.

Now, post-marbles I’ve slowed down a lot.

I’ve become a collector of small pleasures. The perfect peach A warm towel from the dryer. My dogs’ full-body joy when I return from checking the mail.

Plus I pause when I notice something poignant and beautiful.

I think: This. Remember this.

Because this is what the marbles of life are for.

At this point I realize that the Marble Mortality System isn't really about focusing on death.

It's about focusing on life.

Each marble says: Pay attention more.

Notice this month. Inhale this moment. Absorb this feeling.

Because none of this will ever happen again… and all of this will be gone sooner than you think.

So, try it.

Buy your marbles. Set up your jars.

Then watch what happens to your priorities when you can see your life literally slipping through your fingers.

Because here's the truth:

We don't have all the time in the world.

We only have the time we have left.

And those jars of marbles will remind you – relentlessly, mercilessly, lovingly – to use this time mindfully and boldly.

❤️Psssst…..If you're passionate about living a meaningful life, order my new book "Your To Die For Life." This book happened because my dad died & then I couldn't sleep for three weeks & so I started writing notes on my phone at 3am. And then I realized something about death awareness. It makes you see where you've been wasting your time. Suddenly, you see the truth of your life & stop wasting time on relationships where you have to make yourself smaller. Or dreams you never really wanted. Or grudges that take up too much space in your brain.

So, order "Your To Die For Life" today.

It will shift something inside of you. Not everything. Just the important parts.