Sit down, lets have a coffee….

I came from a funeral today.

Not my loss, but the loss of someone I love—watching a friend grieve a parent, again. And as always, death did what it tends to do for me: it slowed everything down and quietly asked me to pay attention.

Births give us hope.
Weddings give us joy.
Funerals give us reflection.

They’re the markers of our lives. The moments where time feels different—where we stop scrolling, stop rushing, stop pretending we’re not mortal—and remember what actually matters.

I’ve always felt strangely comfortable with death. Not in a dark way. In a peaceful one. Death reminds me that life is precious, not guaranteed, and not meant to be rushed through half-awake.

Funerals don’t just make us sad—they make us grateful. They remind us of love that existed, conversations that mattered, laughter that once filled rooms. They make us think about our own lives, whether we mean to or not.

And they ask a quiet question:
How are you living the time you’ve been given?

Intentional living doesn’t mean constant adventure or checking off destinations. It’s not about doing more. It’s about noticing more.

The smell of your coffee.
The first sip.
The deep conversations with friends where phones disappear and real life shows up.
Saying the things you need to say—now, not later.

Because later isn’t promised.

Most of us spend our days rushing. Working. Achieving. Consuming. Planning for some future version of ourselves that’s finally calm, finally present, finally happy.

But this is it.
This ordinary Tuesday.
This breath.
This moment.

I think people fear death because, deep down, they’re afraid they haven’t lived. Not really. Not fully. And I get that fear. But I also believe the antidote isn’t avoiding death—it’s embracing life.

I’m 53, and I’ve lived a full one already.
Love. Heartbreak. Incredible friendships.
Great kids.
Meaningful work.
Sadness. Joy. Growth.
And a dog who thinks I’m her whole world.

If my life ended today, I wouldn’t want to be remembered for how hard I worked or how much I achieved. I’d want to be remembered for how I showed up. For laughing easily. For loving deeply. For being present. For caring about people.

The dash between our beginning and our end is ours.
What happens there is a choice.

Birth gives us hope.
Weddings give us joy.
Funerals give us gratitude.

And everything in between?
That’s where you decide how awake you want to be.

So slow down.
Say the things.
Have the conversations.
Be here.

And in the meantime—between the dashes—
choose your wild.

These letters comes from on honest place - lessons learned, questions still unfolding, miles traveled, and the quiet wisdom that comes with aging.

I hope it gives you something to sit with…or something to move towards.

If you are walking your own road - imperfect, evolving awake - stay with me.

Choose Your Wild.

~Lana

Until next time :)