If This Is My Last Year, How Do I Want to Spend It?

If someone told me I had just one year left, I wouldn’t rush to climb a mountain or skydive or tick off some bucket list. I wouldn’t try to “make every second count.” Because honestly, that phrase feels like it belongs to people who still believe they have endless time.

When you’re living with late-stage cancer, you already know time is limited. That’s not a shocking realisation, it’s the backdrop of every decision you make. And if this really is my last year, I don’t want to spend it chasing some pressure-filled idea of what a “meaningful” life is supposed to look like. I want to spend it living the kind of life that feels meaningful to me.

Reflecting on a Life Already Lived

I’m not ready to die. I still hope I’ve got more time, years, not months. But if this is my last year, I can honestly say I’ve lived a pretty damn full life already. I’ve travelled the world, met people from every corner of it, experienced different cultures, laughed in languages I didn’t speak. I’ve worked hard, adventured far, and had more life in my first 30 years than some people get in 90.

And most importantly, I met and married the love of my life. Cancer has stolen a lot from us, but it didn’t steal that. I’ve known what it is to love and be loved deeply, and to build a life with someone I’d choose again a thousand times. That’s something no diagnosis can take away.

No Bucket Lists, Just Intentional Days

I don’t have a bucket list. Not because I don’t have dreams, but because being sick every day doesn’t exactly line up with bungee jumping or trekking Kakoda. And I’m okay with that.

If this is my last year, I want:

• Quiet mornings with my wife, coffee in hand, no urgency to be anywhere
• Days spent with people who don’t feel awkward around cancer
• Conversations that go deeper than “how are you?”
• Good food, even if I can’t eat much of it
• Warm sun on my face, the ocean when I can get to it, and sleep that actually feels restful
• A few more blogs written, stories shared that might help someone else feel less alone

I don’t want noise. I don’t want pressure. I just want the freedom to choose how I spend my time, even if that means doing very little. Because some days, surviving is more than enough.

Please Don’t Tell Me to “Make Every Second Count”

That advice, well-meaning as it might be, is lost on me. As if I haven’t thought about how limited my time is. As if I’m wasting something precious by not ticking off milestones or chasing the horizon. That phrase is built for people who assume they’ll live forever. People who need reminding that time isn’t infinite.

I don’t need that reminder. None of us with a terminal or late-stage diagnosis do. We live it every single day.

What we need is permission, from ourselves and from the people around us, to live on our terms. Whether that looks like travel, art, advocacy, board games, or just lying in bed next to someone we love. There’s no right way to spend what might be your last year. There’s only your way.

Making Peace With What Matters

When I think about what really matters, it’s not the big achievements. It’s the people. The memories. The moments where I felt most like myself.

I want to keep making those moments, for as long as I can. Not because I’m trying to leave behind a perfect legacy, but because I’m still here. Still living. Still choosing how I show up in the time I’ve got.

If that time runs out sooner than I’d hoped, I know I’ve already lived more than I ever expected. And if it doesn’t, if I get another year or five, I’ll keep doing exactly what I’m doing now: loving hard, living honestly, and never letting cancer dictate what makes a moment meaningful.

Final Thought

If this is your last year, or if you’re just scared it might be, don’t let anyone else tell you how to live it. You don’t owe the world a performance. You don’t have to squeeze every second. You just have to be here, in whatever way feels right to you.

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do with limited time is to spend it exactly how you want.