Life is half spent before we know what it is.

“Life is half spent before we know what it is.” Thus wrote George Herbert, the poet-priest whose words carry the quiet gravity of one who had looked long into the heart of time. This saying is not merely a lament but a revelation—a truth whispered by all the ages. It tells us that wisdom dawns late, that man walks long in shadow before he learns to see. We are born in wonder, grow in ambition, and only in our later years do we awaken to the sacred simplicity of being alive. By then, the sun of life is already setting, and we gaze backward in awe at what we had possessed but never truly understood.

In our youth, we chase illusions. We believe that life is something to be conquered, a mountain to climb, a prize to seize. We fill our days with noise—dreams of power, of wealth, of recognition—believing that somewhere ahead lies the meaning we seek. Yet, like travelers lost in fog, we wander past the quiet beauty that surrounds us. The laughter of a friend, the warmth of morning light, the stillness of an ordinary evening—all these moments pass unheeded. And then, one day, the fog lifts, and we realize that life was not in the distance, but in the very path beneath our feet.

The ancients knew this truth well. Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor and philosopher. Though he commanded legions and ruled over half the world, he often wrote by candlelight to remind himself how brief and fragile life truly was. “Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be,” he said. “Be one.” He had learned, as Herbert later would, that life’s value is not found in its length or its triumphs, but in awareness—clear, present, unguarded awareness. Yet by the time he understood this, his body was weary, his empire heavy upon his shoulders, and the sands of his life nearly spent.

So too is it with all of us. In youth, we rush to live; in age, we learn what living means. The child dreams of growing up; the adult dreams of going back. We race through our years as though they were an obstacle to overcome, only to discover that the finish line is the same as the end. Herbert’s sorrowful wisdom reminds us that the tragedy of life is not its brevity, but our blindness to its wonder while it lasts. We wake too late to the miracle of being, and by then, half of life has already slipped away like water through the hands.

But there is no bitterness in this truth—only a quiet call to awaken now. To know what life is before it is gone is the greatest victory of all. Life is not a problem to solve but a mystery to experience. It is laughter shared under the stars, the courage to forgive, the beauty of a sunrise after sorrow. It is not measured in years but in moments of awareness, gratitude, and love. The wise man does not ask how long he will live, but how deeply.

Remember the story of Tolstoy, who, at the height of fame and fortune, found himself despairing at the seeming emptiness of existence. Only when he turned away from vanity and toward simplicity—walking among peasants, hearing their songs, feeling their faith—did he finally understand the meaning of life. He wrote that the purpose of living was “to love and to serve the good.” So it is: the knowledge of life is not found in philosophy, but in presence, humility, and compassion. To live truly, one must learn to see through the eyes of the heart.

And so, dear listener, let this truth be your inheritance: Do not wait until life is half spent to know what it is. Do not wait for loss to teach you value, or for age to teach you peace. Begin now. Be still and look around you. Let gratitude be your prayer, kindness your creed, and awareness your daily bread. Waste no hour in bitterness or regret. Learn, while the day is bright, what the old and the dying already know—that life is not what you have, nor what you achieve, but what you awaken to in each passing breath.

Thus, when your days draw near their close, you will not look back with the ache of one who has missed the feast, but with the quiet joy of one who has tasted deeply of life’s cup. You will smile, knowing that you have truly lived—not half blind, but wide-eyed, heart open, and soul alive to the sacred wonder of existence.