A Netflix show stopped me mid-episode and forced me to ask a hard question: when my time comes, will I have actually lived?
A show I almost didn’t watch
I had zero intention of watching From Scratch on Netflix. Then, over the span of a few weeks, multiple people reached out asking if I’d seen it. Even my mom sent me a text. I finally cleared time to watch it.
Everyone warned me it would be emotionally intense, not something to binge. I paced it over three days. I was drawn into the story and quickly became invested in the characters. The first 5 episodes had some sad moments, but nothing that made me extra weepy. I wondered if people had exaggerated its impact. Then the end of episode six hit, and I cried through the final two episodes.
The moment that broke me open
What finally undid me was a scene where the main male character reaches for his notebook and begins writing with a frantic urgency his hand can barely keep up with.
Earlier in the series, he’d said something that I couldn’t shake: he wasn’t afraid to die, he was afraid of not finishing what he was capable of. That line rang in my ears as I felt the hurried energy in his spirit to release all that he had within him in that notebook.
I’ve never feared death. I have lived a full life that I am grateful for. However, what I fear is leaving undone the dreams I know I’m capable of living. That my gifts won’t be used to contribute to the world. That there won’t be a lasting legacy of how I made people feel and an imprint of the change I created in the world.
If I don’t finish my mission, are there enough breadcrumbs for future generations to pick up and carry forward?
Why so many of us aren’t living the life we’re meant to live
We all carry a unique purpose, a mixture of passions, strengths, and values that is entirely ours. But life experiences, societal pressure, and systemic barriers can block what should flow from us naturally. Before we know it, five months or five years have passed, and we’re further from the life we were meant to live.
That’s part of why seasonal shifts are so powerful. They signal an invitation to shed what no longer serves us and step into new possibility. The end of the year is one of those moments, if we let it be.
The case for intentional reflection (not just hustle)
The end of the year gets consumed by busyness: events, obligations, the pressure to plan for the year ahead before the current one has even finished. Whether you are ready for the year to end or feel it was one of the best years of your life, there’s a different way to enter a new year: by first going back.
Leading into 2020, I spent the entire month of December unpacking the previous decade. I did it in small chunks of time on my own when I could really let myself get curious and explore. I didn’t want my visioning to be shaped by one mimosa brunch in January. (What has become the norm for start-of-the-year visionboarding). I wanted it to come from my own curiosity and intuition. That practice changed everything. And I’ve since realized it shouldn’t be reserved for once a decade, it should be a consistent rhythm.
Looking back is how we consciously move forward. Without it, life just passes, and we ride along instead of steering.
An invitation for December
I have since realized that isn’t a practice that should be reserved for every 10 years.
We have to look back to consciously move forward. Unpacking the year is a practice that should be used regularly so that life isn’t flying by with us just riding along.
My hope for all of us is that we are living the life meant for us. A life fully lived is reflective and intentional on a consistent basis. Space for reflection leads to purposeful shedding and a clear vision for the future.
This month, I’m setting aside time to reflect on the past year, who I’ve been, what I’ve experienced, and what I want to release. Returning to the past eleven months is the foundation for clear visioning heading into a new year. I hope that none of us arrive at the end of our lives frantically trying to pour out the unlived dreams we never touched.
Let them flow now, while there is time.
