What the Dying Can Teach Us About Living

The nurses know—the ones who spend their days and nights in hospice facilities, holding the hands of the dying during their final moments. They know what haunts people at the end.

They’ve heard the same regrets, over and over, from people of different backgrounds, different wealth levels, and different life experiences. The patterns are unmistakable. It’s not about the promotion they missed or the vacation they never took to Bali. It’s deeper than that. More raw. More human.

Wouldn’t it be transformative if we could gain this kind of wisdom without having to face our own mortality first? Imagine carrying the clarity of the dying through the prime of your life—living each day with profound awareness of what truly matters.

I recently read a book on this subject: The Top Five Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware. The book recounts stories of Ware’s life in palliative care, treating the dying. People in her profession are truly witnessing humanity at its most vulnerable. While some of her observations might seem predictable, the wisdom they contain is profoundly instructive.

Ware boils down her years in palliative care to just five points.

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

The problem lies in how we come to our life’s direction. Many of us don’t consciously choose our path; instead, it emerges from circumstance or is chosen for us by family expectations, cultural pressures, or financial necessities.

According to Ware, this is the Yahtzee!™ of all regrets—the one that hangs up almost everyone contemplating their own death. Deep down, they’ve known for a very long time that they aren’t on their chosen path. 

Ware supposes that the average person “had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.” Heavy stuff. 

What dreams have you set aside? What paths have you not taken out of fear or obligation?

2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.

According to Ware, “all of the men I nursed regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.”

It wasn’t about working too hard. It was about working too hard on things that seemed inconsequential—in the end.

Ware goes on to say, “The chase for more, and the need to be recognized through our achievements and belongings, can hinder us from the real things—things like time with those we love.”

Do you think you’ll look back at some point and regret the amount of time you spent working?

Hey, real quick, if this article moves you or makes you feel differently about life, would you mind forwarding it to someone you care about?

3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my true feedings.

Okay, if number two is a guy thing, #3 is mostly a girl thing. Apparently, many people regret holding their tongue. (This is likely related to Regret #1: “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.”)

So people pursue things that aren’t authentic. You know, careers, colleges, relationships and such—stuff to make Mom or Dad happy. They’re the kind of empty pursuits that you don’t really figure out until it’s too late to turn back. The result, it seems, is an existence that restricts our ability to satisfy our own dreams, and an overwhelming sense of regret.

The dying suggest that speaking your truth, with compassion and courage, leads to fewer regrets. The price of silence is often bitterness, resentment, and relationships built on false foundations.

What remains unsaid in your life? What thoughts have you buried to please others or avoid confrontation?

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

In many cases, the dying do not realize their deep longing for friendship until it’s too late. It becomes difficult to rekindle an old friendship when your days are numbered. “Hey Bill, how have you been? Say, let’s get together and catch up. By the way, I’m dying, so we ought to make it soon.”

Apparently everyone misses their friends when they are dying. They miss the intimacy of friendship and laughter.

At the end of the line, particularly in the final weeks of life, all that remains are love and relationships. Everything else fades away. I wrote about this in my fav piece of 2025, With Friends, Family, Music and Dogs.

Which of your friendships deserve some focused attention?

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This one is self explanatory. The dying often lament the time they spent angry and bitter over life’s seemingly unfair outcomes. Nobody goes to their grave wishing they had waited a little longer to forgive someone.

I bet when our days are numbered, we might regret the silliness of our own neurosis and wish we could have just some of that wasted time back.

Deep within their souls, the dying long for happiness, for silliness. To smile and laugh and giggle and tell corny jokes and have milk squirt out of their noses one more time.

The Unexpected Gift of Limited Time

I wonder if hearing that you have a terminal illness creates an unexpected sense of relief. Relief that we can finally let go of the rope—without fearing the rope burns of life.

Relief that comes from knowing the old burdens are stripped away, allowing us to finally focus on what is truly important. No worries about the last time we had our oil changed or our teeth cleaned—an almost childlike wonder of finally being able to see the world more clearly. A clarity, as if someone finally turned on the lights, and everything came clearly into focus.  

What if we didn’t wait for a diagnosis to gain this perspective? What if we lived today with the wisdom of the dying—choosing authenticity, presence, honest expression, meaningful connection, and simple joy?

The nurses know. The question is: What will we do with their knowledge?

I love to hear from readers—and 99% of thoughtful messages will hear back from me. (1% margin for error cause, you know, I’m human.)

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