Yesterday, I happened across this TEDx talk by Elin Kjos: “My life started when they said it was over.” At age 32, Kjos, a former elite swimmer, fitness trainer, and entrepreneur, got devastating news: The cough that had nagged her for about a year was caused by advanced stage lung cancer. She might have less than a year to live.

Two years later, Kjos stood on a TED stage and described her inner journey. Initially devastated, as most would be, she descended to a dark place, as most would do. But in that dark night of the soul, she realized she two things: She was still alive, and she had a choice. Did she want to live in darkness, or in light?

Something changed. She began to truly experience every moment, and she found she was deeply, joyfully grateful for it. Life became exhilerating, each moment an exquisite gift. She was still in cancer treatment — as she spoke, she acknowledged that she did not know if she had long to live. But, she reminded us, none of us do. “The biggest misconception people have is that we have time — when all we really had or will have is now,” she said.

Kjos did die, about a year after she gave her TED talk. But I don’t think she regretted her disease. The message of her talk was not that she’d miraculously cured her cancer by thinking positive. Her message was that we all have only a few precious moments of life — and we all face the same choice that she did. She just got the gift of crystal clarity around the choices we all confront.

The Feeling of Living

Today, life gave me a perfect invitation to test it out for myself.

Like Kjos before her diagnosis, I think of myself as happy, healthy, progressing. Sure, I tend to push myself a little hard. And maybe that’s often accompanied by an uncomfortable feeling that I should be doing more, being more. I should already have my book done. I should be writing a few law review articles too. I should take more cases, accept more student in the Clinic. And I should put in more training miles before I start.

But today, I’m beginning the summer break. I met with each clinic student for their final assessment meetings this week. Today, the only thing on my calendar was lunch with the colleague who will handle the clinic cases over the summer.

I woke up tired but conflicted - sleep in or get up and start research? I slept. And slept longer. And a little longer still. I got up when I felt fully rested. Then meditated.

I worked for a few hours, then changed into workout gear and rode my bike — making its spring debut — to the restaurant for lunch. The air on the rail-trail smelled like my grandmother’s perfume. The day was sunny, unusually warm. I felt strong as I pedaled. My colleague and I sat outside, chatted about kids, birthdays, then student work and case deadlines.

I biked home, feeling stronger than ever. After a refreshing shower, I realized how exhilerated I felt — and how this feeling came from such ordinary, readily available things. Apart from the special gift of sunshine, the other elements — vigorous exercise, being in nature, talking with a friend, doing work that serves, and (most important for me) not doing too much work — all those things are available to me almost every day. If only I choose to choose them.

I thought of Elin Kjos and the gift she received of truly knowing how precious each day is. We may not have the gift of that clarity — but we can make essentially the same choice. We can treat each day like an exquisite flower, a precious gift just for us.