I can’t think of anything I want. I can’t think of anything I need. I can’t think of what would make my life complete that I don’t have already here in front of me. And I look no further.

That is the point I have reached in life. To be fair, it’s more than a simply accurate assessment of my life, that I suddenly have an awareness of. Just as important, it is an acknowledgement of an arrival to a destination; decades into a journey.

The first four decades of my life were mainly punctuated by questions marks:

“What will it be like when I’m not a kid anymore? Where will I go to college? What should I major in? Where should I move after college? What will my actual career be? Who will I marry? How do I be a good husband? How do I be a good father? What is the meaning of life, anyway?”

But now, my life is punctuated with periods. I don’t really have any questions anymore. And the questions I do have about life… well, no human can honestly know the answer to.

I am not famous. I am not a millionaire. Yet I have more than so many famous millionaires do. If for no other reason, simply because I am not under the belief I that I need to finish the sentence:

“I’ll be happy when…”

Instead, I recognize that if I can’t be happy in the present, I can never truly be happy in the future.

It makes me think of a movie that my wife and I watch at least once every year: This is 40.

Paul Rudd’s wife’s character sets up the premise of the movie as she explains to him:

I also am thinking of Jewish comedian Marc Maron as he explains his understanding of Christianity, in his HBO special, From Bleak to Dark:

“Everything will be amazing… when you’re dead.”

I can appreciate his perspective. Perhaps there is too much emphasis on all of our problems going away when either A) Jesus saves us from all of our annoying problems by showing up in the Rapture, or B) we ideally die in our sleep and get to live in the eternal bliss of Heaven.

While I have definitely placed in my faith in the Christian hope that there is a much better life after this one, I have also challenged my belief system by asking myself the question:

“But what if this is all there is?”

In the event that I just die and that’s it… no further consciousness nor accountability, no memories of this life nor connection to the people I knew in it… I would certainly consider that to be a confusing, cosmic tragedy- that life was nothing more grandiose.

But if that were indeed the case, the question becomes this:

“What about my life would change right now, as I am still alive? What would I do differently?”

My answer: Nothing.

As sad of a thought it would be to never see my loved ones again, the greater sorrow would be to live this gift of a human life on Earth while not making the most of every moment and not appreciating what I do have with the people I share it with.

I think of how my daughter has a microwavable baby doll that she places in our bed to keep safe while she is away at school during the day: “Daddy, Gracie is basically a real baby.” I love it.

I think of how my wife and I set up a reservation for Valentine’s Day last week at a fancy restaurant with an amazing view off the side of Lookout Mountain… but then it was so foggy we were not able to even see anything anyway. I love it.

I think of how this past Sunday I walked into the living room to see my son wearing a monkey jumpsuit while throwing his sister onto a giant beanbag. I love it.

I think of how every morning before work and school, I see my wife and daughter having “coffee time” before the day begins. I love it.

But what I can’t think of…

I can’t think of what would make my life complete that I don’t have already here in front of me.

And I look no further.