Just Over 1000 Saturdays Left: A Midlife Reality Check (With Laughs)

I turn 56 next week. That’s 2,912 weeks down—give or take a few summer vacations lost to flu, heartbreak, or regrettable life choices. If we go by the increasingly-popular idea that life is roughly 4,000 weeks long (hat tip to Oliver Burkeman), I’ve got about 1,088 weeks left.

More to the point: just over 1,000 weekends remain.

Let’s sit with that for a second.

Not in a gloomy, open-a-bottle-and-stare-out-the-window way, but in a practical, “oh damn, I’d better get my life together” kind of way. Because whether you’re a spreadsheet junkie like me or someone who still thinks time is infinite because your phone hasn’t died yet, those weekends are not renewable resources.

Time Is a Non-Refundable Ticket

People say, “You’ve got time.” No, you don’t. You have whatever is left on your clock, and the manufacturer didn’t include a warranty or a reset button.

Now, I’m not writing this because I’m afraid of dying. I’m afraid of wasting the 1,088 weekends I have left doing things like:

• Waiting in line at Costco,
• Watching Netflix shows I’ll forget by Wednesday,
• Politely listening to someone explain how crypto is about to make a comeback.

These are not legacy moves. These are the “death by beige” moments that add up to a life unlived.

The Weekend Audit

Here’s a fun and mildly depressing exercise. Grab a pen. (Yes, a pen. Humour me.)

1. Multiply your age by 52. That’s how many weeks you’ve already lived.
2. Subtract that from 4,000.
3. Divide that by 52. That’s how many years of weekends you theoretically have left.
4. Then ask yourself: “How many of those weekends will I spend doing something I actually give a damn about?”

Oof, right?

Let’s say you’re like me and you live in a place where half the year is winter. That already takes 500 Saturdays off the table, because I’m not shovelling snow and calling it self-actualization.

Now take out the sick days, hangovers, weddings you didn’t want to attend, and weekends you’ll spend “catching up on work” because you thought being your own boss meant freedom. (Spoiler: it doesn’t unless you engineer it that way.)

Before you know it, 1,088 becomes more like 600 usable weekends. Maybe less.

So What the Hell Do I Do With That?

I’ll tell you what I’m doing.

I’m deleting apps I don’t use and emails I don’t care about. I’m saying “no” more often—even when it makes people blink awkwardly and shift in their seat. I’m avoiding the trap of planning a “someday” trip that never gets booked because I wanted to save $112 on seat upgrades.

I’m also making time for dumb stuff that makes me happy. Like polishing my motorcycle. Making spaghetti from scratch. Laughing at memes with no redeeming value. And sitting across from someone I love, in silence, because no words are needed.

I’m not becoming a monk or selling everything to go live in a yurt. I’m just choosing better. Because the clock is ticking—not ominously, just factually—and I’d rather fill my last 1,000 weekends with something that looks like joy.

The Illusion of Later

You know that friend who says, “Let’s catch up soon,” but never does? Yeah, you’re that friend to your future self. The one who keeps saying:

• “I’ll start that book when things settle down.”
• “I’ll take that trip once the business is more stable.”
• “I’ll fix the garage when it’s warmer.”

Newsflash: Things never settle down. The business is never stable. And the garage? It’s probably a metaphor for your unresolved childhood trauma.

The point is, “later” is a lie you tell yourself so you can avoid making a decision today. But the cost isn’t money—it’s weekends.

Tick-Tock, But Make It Funny

Let me be clear: this is not a call to start BASE jumping or taking ayahuasca in the Andes. You don’t need to “find yourself.” You’re right there—in the mirror, possibly holding a coffee and wondering how 1999 was 25 years ago.

You don’t need a bucket list. You need a stop-doing list. Stop doing things that waste your most precious, unrecoverable asset: your Saturdays.

Stop:

• Hanging out with people who drain you.
• Saying yes because you feel guilty.
• Working on weekends because hustle culture told you success demands suffering.

Start:

• Booking time for rest like it’s a business meeting.
• Scheduling joy, not just productivity.
• Treating your calendar like a sacred document, not a dumping ground.

My Plan for the Next 1,088 Weekends

I don’t know what you’ll do with yours, but here’s what I’m aiming for:

• Quality conversations over quantity of contacts. I don’t need 500 “friends.” I need five good ones and a damn good drink.
• Projects with soul. If I’m building something, it has to matter—or at least entertain.
• Mornings without alarms. Or with them, but only because I’m riding somewhere scenic or making a breakfast worth waking up for.
• More “Hell Yes” energy. And a lot more “Nope, not today” boundaries.

Final Thought (Before Next Saturday)

Time is like toilet paper: it feels endless until you’re down to the last roll, and then suddenly you’re counting squares.

Don’t wait until the weekend tally hits double digits to ask what you were doing with your life. Ask now. You don’t need to panic—you just need to pivot.

You have just over a thousand weekends left, if you’re lucky. Use them like they cost something.

Because they do.

#StayFrosty!

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