By Cecelia White with Cumberland River Behavioral Health
My grandmother recently passed away at the age of 101. I attended her funeral earlier this month and it got me thinking about life and death. There are two dates that are important to most people, their date of birth and their date of death. Between those dates there is a dash consisting of many years, hopefully.
We spend a lot of time planning for the dates in between the beginning and the end of our lives. We celebrate birthdays, graduations, marriages, retirements, anniversaries and other events that are worthy of celebration. We plan funerals, choosing the words that will be spoken after we’re gone. But how much time do we spend thinking about the dash itself—the ordinary, messy, and many times beautiful stretch of living in between?
Living your dash isn’t about squeezing every moment dry or chasing some picture-perfect version of happiness. It’s not about how productive you are or checking things off your bucket list, if you have one. It’s about how you show up in the days that just feel ordinary.
Most of life is lived in the middle. In the routines. In the early mornings and long afternoons. In conversations over coffee (or in my case a diet drink of some sort), in car rides, in quiet evenings when no one is watching. The dash is made up of how we treat people when we’re tired, how we respond when things don’t go our way, and whether we choose connection over convenience.
It’s easy to think we’ll start living our dash “later.” After the kids are grown. After work slows down. After we lose the weight, make the money, or fix whatever feels broken. But the truth is, later is not promised. The dash is happening right now, whether we’re paying attention to it or not.
Living your dash means choosing to be present in a distracted world. It means listening when someone talks, instead of waiting for your turn to speak or thinking about what you want to respond. It means putting down distractions, including cell phones, when others are present. It means apologizing when you’re wrong and forgiving when it’s hard. It means showing up for people even when it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable.
It also means giving yourself grace. The dash is not a performance in which you get extra attention for silent suffering or burning yourself out. Living the best dash includes rest. It includes boundaries. It includes the courage to say no so that your yes still means something.
For many of us, living the dash also means redefining success. Success isn’t just what you accomplish; it’s who you become along the way. It’s whether the people in your life feel seen and valued. It’s whether your presence brings peace or pressure, kindness or criticism.
One day, someone will look at that dash on your headstone and fill in the story themselves. They won’t remember every task you completed or every worry that kept you up at night. They’ll remember how you made them feel. Whether you showed up. Whether you cared.
So, live your dash with intention. Love generously. Speak kindly. Do the best you can with what you have, right where you are. Because the dash may be small, but it holds everything that truly matters. My grandmother lived in a time where women did not work outside the home, but she built a family who will forever remember her for how she made people feel, the fun they had with her, and the love they felt from her. She truly lived a dash worth living.
