Although I have never been called to somebody’s deathbed to listen to his or her last words (and I probably would arrive too late anyway), I am absolutely certain that nobody ever died thinking:
“I wish I had worked more.”
“I wish I had spent more time at the office.”
” I wish I had spent more time on the internet.”
“If only I had seen less of the world.”
“I wish I had accumulated more stuff.”
Think!
Links:
- How minimalism allows me to travel so much.
- And how having less money actually improves travel.
- This post was also shared on Medium.
- Zur deutschen Fassung.
The Happy Hermit 
If you are on your deathbed why should you wish (i.e. regret) that you had done more / less of anything. This is grim, skewed thinking. One will never be able to see every place, read every book, know or do every thing in this life or rewind the clock and re-enact moments.
Most importantly, we definitely must not seek to do things for others over oneself e.g. avoiding acts for recognition, credibility, honour, a legacy etc, within reason, as the people you crave these feelings from and everyone who knows you, and those who may pass on stories about you, too will be dead one day. We won’t even be a memory or thought in the mind of anyone else after we go. Best to live life as happily on your terms as possible.
The irony is that there are many different, slow ways of dying before actual physical death… Fear is one of them.
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I’ll be thinking….”Did I wear clean socks today?”
hahah! ^^ I am the same way.
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Great post. I’m experiencing a few of these issues as well..
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I never understand it when people say they wouldn’t regret working more at their death bed. I am an artist and my work is my joy and my life and I definitely would regret not working more!
The relevant question is not if you enjoy your work, but if there is anything else that you enjoy more. If there is, then that “else” should deserve more time than work.
I also enjoyed my work as a lawyer, but I enjoyed traveling, reading and being in nature more. As any hour can only be spent once, the work (which taken by itself I did enjoy) was denying a greater joy.