Life is Paradise

Imagine you are 50 years old.

You've spent the last two decades of your life relentlessly climbing the corporate ladder. The sacrifices you made along the way seemed necessary at the time, but now you look back with a tinge of regret. You're standing in your beautifully decorated, yet eerily quiet penthouse, surrounded by the trappings of success. The city skyline twinkles outside your floor-to-ceiling windows, but you hardly notice its beauty anymore. The echoes of laughter from your children playing in the nearby park seem like distant memories.

It's a Sunday evening, and you're supposed to be having dinner with your family. Your phone keeps buzzing with work emails, and you can't resist checking them. Your spouse looks at you with a mixture of disappointment and resignation, the kids long accustomed to your absence. They've grown up with nannies and caregivers, and while they may have material comforts, they yearn for your presence.

You remember the dreams you once had—dreams of spending quality time with your family, traveling the world, and pursuing hobbies. Those dreams were slowly replaced by the allure of prestige and financial success, the promises of a better life. You've achieved so much, but at what cost?

As you pour yourself a stiff drink to numb the stress and loneliness, a picture catches your eye. It's a family photo taken years ago, when everyone was smiling with genuine happiness. You feel a pang of regret deep in your heart. Where did that joy go? How did you let your ambitions overshadow the people you love most?

You decide to call your best friend, who you haven't seen in months. The friend who used to have time for late-night conversations and spontaneous adventures. But as the phone rings, you realize that even that friendship has been neglected amidst the hustle and bustle of your career.

Finally, you decide to take that vacation your family has been begging you for. You tell your boss you need a break, and surprisingly, they understand. As you embark on the trip, you feel a mixture of guilt and relief. Guilt for not realizing sooner what truly matters, and relief that you still have a chance to make things right.

During that trip, surrounded by the laughter of your loved ones, you experience moments of true happiness you haven't felt in years. You reconnect with your spouse, hear your kids' stories, and rekindle the bond with your best friend. You start to wonder why you didn't prioritize these precious relationships earlier.

Back in the office, you make changes to your work schedule. You delegate more, set boundaries, and make time for yourself and your loved ones. You discover that life is not just about the grind—it's about the moments that take your breath away and the people who fill your heart with joy.

But fate has a way of reminding us of our mortality, no matter how much we try to change our ways. One evening, as you're rushing to leave the office early for a family dinner, you feel a sudden tightness in your chest. You dismiss it as stress, but the pain intensifies. You call your spouse to tell them you might be late, but before you can finish the sentence, you collapse.

Paramedics arrive too late. You suffer a fatal heart attack, leaving behind a life full of achievements but also a trail of broken promises and missed moments with those you cherished most.

In the end, all the money, accolades, and status couldn't save you. As your life flashes before your eyes, you realize that you can't take any of it with you. The regrets weigh heavily on your soul as you take your last breath.

The above could be pure fiction. Or it could be you. Are you willing to mitigate it as best as possible? Will you care about looking successful then? Nothing is worth more than life, health, and happiness. Nothing.