I finally did the math: If I’m lucky, I have 884 weeks left to live.

And no, I don’t have a sudden terminal illness to disclose.

Last year, I received a copy of Oliver Burkeman’s latest book: “4,000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals.” It was life changing. The premise: If you live to be 80, you will have lived 4,000 weeks, which seems a shockingly, inconceivably, BRIEF amount of time!

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how many weeks I had left or how many I’d already “spent” (or wasted). And as I devoured, reread and chewed on this book for the past year or so (somewhere between 52 to 78 weeks), I was uncertain what to do with this information. This realization left me feeling, frankly, disturbed — as well as depressed? Unmoored? Lost? I had NO idea what to make of this awareness.

I thought I was aware of my mortality. I meditate. I practice yoga. I strive to live in the now. But the truth (provided I don’t get killed by a drunk or texting driver): I live with the false assumption that I have TONS of time, ALL the time in the world and even time to kill, to do all of things I want to do. I have SHELVES of time-management and self-help books promising that my perfect life is within my reach! But the realization that I can’t do all the things on my to do list(s), that I’ll never got on top of things ever — however proactive — terrifies me. And all the time-management gurus with books, online classes, podcasts … it’s a con for those of us still under the illusion that we can have it all or be it all.

Our American way propels us, after all, into this fallacy. Yet, on some level, as we try harder, consume more, and chase experiences and benchmarks, we know something is MISSING. We go faster and faster and seem further and further away from fulfillment and that “something” we seek.

Usually, it takes a serious interruption or event (death, illness, divorce, setback) to interrupt our trajectory, our trance/hallucination that we’ve “got this” and that we can do, be and have anything to remind us of our mortality — that we are a very small blip on the timeline of the universe, the fact that we are small creatures standing on ONE planet, in ONE solar system out of millions, billions of stars in ONE corner, the Milky Way.

People who face disruption become CLEAR about what matters. It’s like being in a house on fire: You don’t grab stupid shit! And when we are on our death beds, all those things we think are SO important seem pretty insignificant compared to fleeting moments (not selfies) where we actually stayed up all night talking with a friend, gazed into the eyes of our beloved, caressed the head of our child, or cried with a dear friend … those are the moments, or the lack of them, we will remember.

Burkeman is looking at time management (which he says is ultimately all life is) with a different lens. In his book’s introduction, entitled “In the Long Run We’re All Dead,” he serves it up straight: “Assuming you live to be eighty, you’ll have had about four thousand weeks. … make it to ninety, and you’ll have had almost 4,700 weeks.” He continues: “It follows from this that time management, broadly defined, should be everyone’s chief concern. Arguably, time management is all life is.”

I know life is short. But I haven’t been valuing my time as precious, primarily because I haven’t valued myself, and I have spent those precious weeks pleasing or appeasing others. When exactly am I planning on living an authentic life knowing I don’t have all the time in the world? Am I going to keep using my precious time left doing things to be “good enough” for others, or am I going to use them to be true to myself and choiceful? Intentional?

The media is like a crowd — a global-sized peer pressure to fit in and go with the flow. Everyone else is doing “it.” I already struggle with “getting it right,” believing everyone else has it figured out. Instagram, Facebook and all forms of media demonstrate this to me —constantly. Interestingly, when people talk about how they “spend” their life, it is literally an investment of my time to listen that either moves me toward or away from who I really am.

Is this how I want to spend my life?

Burkeman’s book reminded me of the “Seinfeld” episode “The Sponge” (119th episode, season 7, episode 9, 1995) in which Elaine (Julia Louis Dreyfus) faces a sexual crisis when she discovers her preferred brand of contraception, the Today brand of contraceptive sponges, has been taken off the market. She finds 60 at her local pharmacy and then faces the fact that these must last her the rest of her life. She looks at her dates and weighs them as being sponge-worthy.

I too have come to appreciate, realize, see, and understand that each remaining week is precious. How will I spend it? For my remaining weeks, I’ll ask myself: Is spending my time in this or that way “week-worthy”? It’s a time bank account. Is spending my time people-pleasing worthy of my precious time? Is being resentful? Angry? Envious? How important are all those “likes” or what some celebrity influencer is doing? How do I wish to spend my week? Certainly, there are tasks I need to do. But then maybe there are some that really are  not important.

This means listening to MY voice over the voices of others. It means spending time alone, meditating, discerning, listening, learning.

Steve Jobs said, “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition.” That’s how I plan to spend the weeks I have to come, whether that is 650, 884 or something in between. How about you?