"Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." - Psalm 90:12

Yesterday I did something that made my skin crawl. I wrote my own obituary.

Not because I'm morbid. Not because I'm planning to go anywhere. But because I needed to see what my life would look like if I died today, and what I want it to look like when I actually do.

Reading it made me feel sick. But it was honest.

Then I wrote the obituary I want. The one that reflects who I'm becoming, not who I've been. The one that makes my time on earth matter.

Today, you're going to do the same.

Your obituary is the ultimate business plan. It's the clearest possible statement of what actually matters. It's impossible to read without confronting the gap between who you are and who you could be.

Most people avoid thinking about death because it's uncomfortable. But that discomfort is data. It's showing you what you're not doing with your life.

When you truly accept that you're going to die not someday, but definitely you start making different decisions. Urgent decisions. Meaningful decisions.

You stop waiting for permission and start taking action.

Let me show you two obituaries. Both for the same person. Both completely accurate. Both written by someone who knew them intimately themselves.

Obituary A: The Life You're Currently Living

"[Your Name], [Your Age], died [today's date]. They worked at [current job] for [number] years, earning a steady income and maintaining a comfortable lifestyle. They had many ideas but struggled to act on them. They were planning to start their business next year. They intended to write that book eventually. They meant to travel more, love deeper, and take bigger risks, but never found the right time. They were survived by their potential and a long list of 'somedays.' They will be remembered as someone who played it safe."

Obituary B: The Life You Could Live

"[Your Name], died at [age + 40 years], after building [specific business/empire/movement] that [specific impact on world]. They took their first major risk at [current age], when they [specific action you could take this year]. Despite early failures and criticism, they persisted. By [age + 10], they had [specific achievement]. By [age + 20], they were recognized as [specific recognition]. They authored [number] books, mentored [number] people, and created [specific legacy]. Their work continues to [specific ongoing impact]. They lived like they were going to die, which is why their death feels impossible."

Which obituary do you want written about you?

Here's what you need to understand: You have roughly 4,000 weeks to live. If you're 30, you've already used 1,560 of them. That leaves 2,440 weeks to build everything that will matter.

But it's worse than that:

1,140 hours annually to build your legacy. 95 hours per month. 22 hours per week.

Those 22 hours per week are going to determine your obituary.

How are you currently spending them?

When you read obituaries of people who lived meaningful lives, they fall into five categories:

The businesses, organizations, movements, or institutions they created. The things that will outlast them.

The specific people or groups whose lives they improved. The problems they solved for others.

The chances they took. The conventional wisdom they challenged. The times they chose courage over comfort.

The people they mentored, taught, or inspired to become more than they thought possible.

The systems, ideas, resources, or knowledge that continue benefiting others after they're gone.

Your current obituary probably focuses on what you consumed, not what you created.

As you write your obituary, these questions will force you to confront what actually matters:

What did you create that wouldn't have existed without you?
Not what you participated in. Not what you helped with. What did YOU create?

Whose life is measurably better because you lived?
Not your family (they're supposed to benefit from your existence). Whose life did you change who didn't have to benefit from knowing you?

What risk did you take that everyone said was impossible?
Not calculated risks. Not safe bets. What did you attempt that required genuine courage?

What problem did you solve that others ignored?
What did you see that others missed? What did you fix that others accepted?

What knowledge did you create that advances human understanding?
What did you learn, document, or discover that makes the world smarter?

Most people have two lives: the one they're living and the one they wish they were living.

The gap between these lives is where regret lives. It's where "I should have" and "I could have" and "If only" spend their time growing.

Your obituary exercise reveals this gap with brutal clarity:

Current obituary: "They were comfortable and safe"
Desired obituary: "They changed industries and inspired millions"

Current obituary: "They had a steady job and nice colleagues"
Desired obituary: "They built an empire and employed thousands"

Current obituary: "They were well-liked and never caused problems"
Desired obituary: "They disrupted systems and challenged conventions"

The gap between these versions is not time. It's not luck. It's not opportunity.

The gap is decision.

Be brutally honest. If you died today, what would actually be written about your life? What did you accomplish? What did you create? Who did you serve? What risks did you take?

Write it like a real obituary. Past tense. Specific details. No sugar-coating.

This is who you want to become. What you want to build. The legacy you want to leave. The impact you want to have.

Be specific about ages, achievements, and timelines. Make it ambitious but achievable.

What's the difference between your current trajectory and your desired legacy? What needs to change? What needs to start? What needs to stop?

Based on your desired obituary, what's the one project/business/goal that would most move you toward that future? Pick one thing that, if accomplished, would fundamentally change how your story ends.

Do something anything toward your legacy project. Send one email. Make one call. Write one page. Take one step that your future obituary will reference as "when it all began."

Tell someone what you're building. Not for support—for accountability. Make your legacy project public enough that abandoning it would be embarrassing.

"They enjoyed life, travelled frequently, and had many hobbies. They were knowledgeable about current events and had strong opinions on social media. They collected experiences and possessions. They will be missed by friends and family."

"They worked steadily in their field, helped their colleagues, and supported their community. They were reliable and well-respected. They made things slightly better wherever they went. They lived a good life."

"They built something that changed everything. They saw problems others ignored and created solutions others said were impossible. They took risks others feared and achieved results others envied. They made the world measurably different."

Only one of these obituaries gets remembered beyond the funeral.

"A good man leaves an inheritance to his children's children." - Proverbs 13:22

But inheritance isn't just money. It's the businesses you build, the people you mentor, the problems you solve, the knowledge you create.

Your obituary is your inheritance preview.

Here's what happens when you truly accept your mortality:

Waiting becomes impossible: You can't wait for the "right time" when time is finite

Perfectionism becomes pointless: Done is better than perfect when perfect might never come

Approval becomes irrelevant: What others think matters less than what you accomplish

Comfort becomes costly: Every safe choice is a potential regret

Procrastination becomes painful: Delaying action is stealing from your legacy

You can keep living like you have unlimited time. You can keep waiting for permission, perfect conditions, and guaranteed outcomes. You can keep being comfortable and safe.

Or you can accept that your time is limited and start building something that will outlast you.

Your obituary is being written right now. Every day you delay taking action is another day your story stays small.

The question isn't whether you'll die. The question is what you'll leave behind when you do.

Write your obituary this week. Both versions. Then start building the life that deserves the better one.

David

P.S. After I wrote my desired obituary, I realised I needed to make some major changes to my current trajectory. I've started three projects in the past month that I'd been "thinking about" for two years. Funny how accepting death makes you start living.

P.P.S. "What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his soul?" - Mark 8:36. But what shall it profit a man if he protects his comfort and loses his purpose? Your obituary will answer that question.

P.P.P.S. Email me both versions of your obituary. Subject line: "My two lives." I'll personally respond to everyone who sends both, because people willing to confront their mortality deserve to maximize their legacy.