To paraphrase Seneca, the tragedy isn’t that life is short, the tragedy is that we waste so much of it.
The other types of tragedy, the more violent kind, never worry me too much, thankfully. I never lost much sleep, worrying about wars or serial killers or whatever.
But the thought of getting to the end of my life and realizing that I had wasted most of it, that froze my blood.
As it should…
