What if today was your last day?

It was a Friday afternoon and I was stuck in my head on the golf course, trying to figure out my life.

I had just moved back to Adelaide after playing golf in the United States, and for the first time ever, I was taking a break from this intense and often lonely sport. I spent most of that break in New Zealand out in nature, with family, making coffees, swimming in the ocean, and honestly… enjoying my life.

Then suddenly, I was back in Adelaide.

Here, I was known as the golfer. Everything reminded me of golf. Everyone reminded me of golf. And that wasn’t a bad thing, I was pretty good at it. It had been my identity for a long time. So it felt like I didn’t really have a choice. I picked up the clubs and went back to the course.

Besides, I’d had enough fun in New Zealand. It was time to be serious again. Time to “figure my life out.” As if life wasn’t currently happening. 

But every time I stepped onto the golf course, it felt like I was chipping away at my soul. I knew I didn’t want to be there, yet I felt like I had to be.

That particular Friday, I’d been practicing for hours, as I always did. I planned to go to the gym afterward and train hard, as I also always did. I was meant to go to Dad’s for dinner that night, but I decided I couldn’t be bothered driving the 30 minutes, so I rescheduled for Monday.

Dad passed away on Saturday.

I don’t share this for pity. I share it because it became a huge catalyst in my life.

Dad on the top of Mount Maunganui, NZ - One of my favourite places on Earth

Dad was supposedly healthy. He rode his bike nearly every day, he was strong, and he was genuinely one of the happiest people I knew. He even lived by himself and loved it.

For the next month or so, I went on with life as if nothing had happened. Suppressing everything, and you bet I was back on the golf course. 

Until one day, it hit me.

I was mid round, standing in the rain. I was numb (not from the cold). It didn’t matter whether I hit a good shot or a bad one. I could’ve got a hole in one and it wouldn’t have phased me.

Standing there with a club in my hand, I realised something very clearly:
I could die tomorrow or next week, and I knew I was living a lie.

I was doing something that not a single part of my body wanted to be doing. I was in pain physically, but also mentally and emotionally. So what the hell was I doing on the golf course?

I finished the round, and everyone just wanted to know my score. Whether they’d beaten me. There was no “How are you?” or “How are you actually doing?”

Why does it matter if I played well if I felt absolutely miserable?

So I put the clubs away and faced what you inevitably have to face when you lose a parent. No more golf to distract me. 

And honestly… It was terrifying.

I have nothing against golf. I’m deeply grateful for what it gave me. The places it took me, the skills it taught me, and the lessons it forced me to learn.

I’m even grateful for the painful parts, because they woke me up – alongside the passing of Dad.

So many of us get trapped in our own minds and belief systems about how life should look. We tick boxes we think are expected of us. We follow paths because they’re familiar, approved, or make sense to others.

We convince ourselves that the past determines the future. That just because something has always been this way, it must always stay this way.

That’s not true.

That only happens if we choose to live life looking through the rear view mirror. Or waiting for some ideal future moment where the conditions are perfectly aligned.

But that moment rarely comes.

There’s no certificate. No protocol. No external permission slip that gently guides you into change. At some point, you have to choose it yourself. You have to face the unknown.

And when you face the unknown, you face life. Because life is unknown.

I had a choice: continue with something familiar that was draining the life out of me, or step away into the unknown. Like many people, change only happened when the pain of staying the same became greater than the fear of leaving.

There had been signs for a long time. I just didn’t want to listen.

I thought I had infinite time, until I was planning a funeral.

The truth is, we are all here living right now, and that inevitably means there will also be death.

Death is not something to fear.
Not living is far more concerning.

It’s astonishing how many of us put off our dreams, sacrifice our health, settle into soul sucking jobs or relationships, and spend our lives surviving, escaping, or distracting ourselves. Thinking that one day we will be healthy or one day we can follow that dream or one day life will actually start. 

In the meantime, we climb a very tall ladder. Only to realise it’s leaning against the wrong wall.

So why not get off while you’re still close to the ground?

Why not start giving energy to what you know needs your attention?

Why stop pouring yourself into things that mean very little to you, and start honouring what actually does?

Life isn’t waiting for you in the future.
It’s happening right now.

And the unknown you’re avoiding may be the very place where life finally meets you.