There’s a folder on my laptop titled “Gettin Jobs” that should really be named “Jobs I Mostly Didn’t Get.” It holds a bunch of Word files, each with an idea for an article or essay I pitched to a media outlet. Many of these pitches were politely rejected, often by more than one publication.

One of my favorite pitches buried in this confidently misnamed folder was turned down by at least three national magazines in 2017. It starts like this:

Suggested Title: Is Today a Good Day to Die?

Crazy no editor jumped on that, right? In my defense, I was going for “intriguing,” but I think it lands more “ominously morbid.” Or just “A big fat ‘No.’”

Admittedly, an essay about dying soon — like before the next sunrise — was a tough sell. People are scared of death, and I get that. I’m not thrilled to know I’m gonna permanently check out at some point either.

But fast-forward three years, and it seems the idea of death, the threat of it, is permeating our thoughts, conversations and social media feeds in a way that it usually isn’t. We see the number of COVID-19 victims ticking upward in this country (and around the world) every day. 80,000 Americans dead. 90,000. Most likely cresting 100,000 over Memorial Day weekend.

The masks we wear and see others wearing signify solidarity and community, but also fragility and vulnerability. They are reminders of what we’ve lost, and what we could lose. What we are desperately afraid of losing. I hear people, including myself, lament about the trips we’ve had to cancel or the plans we can’t make, and all of that has been bringing to mind this old pitch and the practice that sprung from it. So I pulled it out of the sassy/sad “Gettin’ Jobs” folder to share here, because maybe someone could use a new perspective on life and death. I know I could use a refresher about both. We have all lost some sense of time this year, but we’ve gained a season of reframing and refocusing that is pretty priceless, in my opinion. And this rejected essay idea, for me, included a heavy dose of both.

So. Is today a good day to die? Here’s the pitch:

When I think about dying, I think of all the things I haven’t yet done, seen, tried, tasted or loved. I consider my children, who have many milestones ahead that I want to see. I think of the books I haven’t yet published and the countries I haven’t yet visited, and my current life suddenly feels small and squandered. When death is an unknown deadline for fulfilling any whim or goal we might ever dream up, we lose sight of the forest and the trees — and we do squander both.

The truth is that today is what matters because “now” is really all we have. In Dr. Lee Lipsenthal’s memoir Enjoy Every Sandwich, he hones in on this important fact by asking himself about his own death daily. “I learned that if my life was full each day, if I enjoyed the people I was with, if I consciously took time to love my family, and if I did work that fed my soul, that day would be a good day to die,” Lipsenthal writes. “Nothing more would be needed.”

What if we each judged the quality of our lives with a short backward glance rather than a painful, wistful look forward? For 30 days, I’d like to finish every day answering this question — Would today be a good day to die? — and write about what I learn. How will my mindset, my actions and my perspective shift if I know I’m going to ask this each night?

What if being able to answer in the affirmative is the only bucket list I’ll ever need?

Nobody said yes to that pitch, but I doggedly believed in it. So I started doing it anyway (and then, to be completely honest, I pitched it again after 30 days as a ‘this is what I’ve learned’ essay, and still no one bit. Being a freelance writer will teach you how to keep breathing while repeatedly being punched in the gut), and not to make this sound too grandiose or anything but it pretty much helped me reframe my existence.

1. It made the present feel so much more powerful and important.
2. It helped me let go of the false sense of “someday” and gave urgency to the things I want to accomplish.
3. It showed me how rich and fulfilling my life already is.
4. It gave me a greater sense of control about my life — and my death. I know that sounds weird but try writing that question in a journal each night and being able to write “Yes!” after it. You’ll get what I mean.

If any of those four things sound appealing, prove all those naysaying editors wrong and try this for 30 days. It’s a simple, four-step process.

First, think about what elements create a fulfilling life to you, and write them down. I had five:

1. Motherhood. (Dive in. Do not let moments or days slip away. Appreciate. Verbalize. Listen. Try.)
2. Learn something. (About the world. About a friend. About myself. Read, study, think.)
3. Write something. (An essay, journal entry, book chapter, outline, article, email to a loved one, social media post that adds love/humor/positivity/community, something. Create.)
4. Be good to myself. (Run, meditate, work to get stronger, treat myself, have the brownie/wine/salad/fun, say yes to what I desire.)
5. Be good to the world. (Compliment a stranger. Encourage a loved one. Pick up someone else’s trash. Visit a hospice patient. Practice empathy. Be generous.)

Second, finish each day jotting down three things you experienced that day that you’re thankful for. It doesn’t have to be long. I think the “journal” part of “gratitude journal” sounds time-intensive and daunting, like homework at the end of every long day, which is a total turn-off — for me, too. And I’m a writer. But once you start doing this you’ll begin to notice moments, things that marvel your senses, in a way you used to let slip by and melt into the past.

Third, write out the question: “Would today be a good day to die?” (Or, as I quickly shorthanded, “Good day to die?”) Answer honestly. Consider the list of things you said make your life fulfilling. If this day is the last full one you’ll get, did you do right by it? Would you leave this world happy with how you lived your last day in it?

Fourth, start the next day keeping an eye out for your three things, and your mind on what to do to be able to answer “yes” that night, if you’re lucky enough to get there.

I did this practice for more than two years, then wandered away from it late last year. But I’ve committed to picking it back up. It was so easy, and so beneficial. If anyone reading this is emotionally flailing these days because “normal” is gone, because loved ones are at risk or life feels more uncertain and restrained than it used to, this might help. Maybe leaning into the unknown is what will remind you that you are standing on solid ground right now. Even if it’s terrain that feels rocky underfoot. Even if it’s ground that’s soaked with grief. Because all we can do is what we can do. And “now” is the “always” we yearn for, hiding right here in plain sight.