Write Your Own Obituary Before Your Calendar Writes It for You

A funeral program usually fits on a folded sheet of paper. A name, two dates, a photo, a few paragraphs, and a list of the people left behind. Decades of work, worry, ambition, and effort get reduced to what someone could summarize in an afternoon.

I find that sobering, and I think it's useful. The people writing that summary won't have access to your intentions. They will write from what they saw, what they received from you, and what they remember when the noise is gone.

That's why I want you to try an exercise that sounds morbid at first. Write your own obituary. Do it while you still have time to change what it says.

I'm asking you to do it for clarity. Sunday is a good day for it, before Monday fills your calendar with other people's priorities.

The paragraph you write today exposes the gap

Start with a blank page and write the obituary you would want read about you. Keep it honest and specific. Write what you hope people would say about how you treated them, what you built, what you believed, and who you became.

A few guidelines help. Write in the third person, the way a family member or close friend would. Use plain language instead of résumé language. Include at least one sentence about how you handled hardship, because the people who knew you will remember that as clearly as your wins. And resist the urge to list every achievement. If a line wouldn't matter to the people in the front row at your funeral, leave it out.

You may find it hard to write the first sentence. That resistance is common for leaders who spend their days looking forward. Push through it. A rough, honest draft will serve you far better than a polished one you never finish.

Then read it slowly.

For a lot of driven people, the first draft surprises them. The parts that matter most rarely concern revenue, titles, or square footage. They concern a marriage, children, faith, friendships, the employees who grew under their leadership, and the community they served.

That draft gives you a standard. Now compare it with last week.

Look at where your hours went. Look at the conversations you had and the ones you postponed. Look at how you showed up at home after a hard day. Ask whether an observer who followed you for seven days would recognize the man described in your paragraph.

Treat the gap between the two as information. You need that information if you want your remaining years to look different from your recent ones.

I would rather see that gap clearly at 45 than discover it at 75, when the options are smaller and the regrets are heavier.

Your accomplishments will take up less space than you expect

Business owners tend to carry their work at the center of their identity. That's understandable. The company demanded sacrifice, and it often provided security for the people we love.

But read a few obituaries and notice how the work usually appears. A sentence, maybe two. Founded a company. Served as president. Built a successful practice. The rest of the space goes to relationships, character, generosity, faith, and the small habits people remember.

He showed up to every game. She never missed a chance to encourage someone. He called his mother every Sunday. She welcomed anyone who needed a seat at the table.

Those details carry the evidence of a life.

I'm not suggesting your work is unimportant. Building something well is a meaningful way to serve, and I believe God cares about how we handle the responsibilities entrusted to us. The question is whether the work has crowded out everything else that would appear in your final paragraph.

If you can describe your quarterly targets in detail but struggle to describe your children's current fears and hopes, that's worth noticing. If your team knows exactly what you expect from them but your spouse has to guess what you're thinking, that's worth noticing too.

The obituary measures who you were to people

When I think about legacy, I think about the people who will carry something forward because of how I lived. That includes my family first. It also includes the people I've led, coached, and worked beside.

An obituary is ultimately a relational document. It describes a person through the eyes of others. That makes it a useful mirror for leaders who are used to measuring themselves by output.

Ask yourself what the people closest to you would honestly write based on their recent experience of you.

Would your kids describe you as present or distracted? Would your spouse say you were a partner or a provider who was rarely home? Would your employees remember you as someone who developed them or someone who simply used them well?

Those questions can be uncomfortable. They are meant to be. Discomfort can be the first sign that you're paying attention to something real.

You can also ask. Choose one person you trust and ask them a simple question: What do you think people would remember about me if I died this year? Then listen without defending yourself. Their answer may affirm you, challenge you, or do both.

Faith gives the exercise a deeper foundation

For me, this exercise starts with the Spiritual bridge. I believe my life belongs to God, and that my time here is a stewardship rather than a possession. That changes how I read my own obituary.

The question grows beyond reputation. I want to know whether I used what I was given faithfully. Did I love the people placed in my care? Did I use my influence to serve rather than impress? Did I trust God through seasons I didn't understand?

Scripture reminds us that our days are numbered and that wisdom comes from recognizing it. That reminder can focus us on what lasts.

Writing your obituary is one way to practice that wisdom. It pulls you out of the urgency of this week and asks you to view your life from the end. From that vantage point, some worries look small and some neglected priorities look enormous.

That perspective is a gift if you act on it while you still can.

Turn the paragraph into decisions you make this week

An obituary exercise only matters if it changes something. A moving paragraph that sits in a journal won't improve your marriage, rebuild a strained friendship, or help your kids feel known.

Take one sentence from your draft and translate it into an action you can complete in the next seven days.

If you wrote that you were a present father, decide when you'll put the phone away and what you'll do instead. If you wrote that you were generous, choose a specific person or cause to serve this week. If you wrote that you were a man of faith, decide what spiritual discipline you'll practice, and when.

Keep it small and concrete. Big declarations tend to collapse under ordinary pressure. Specific commitments have a better chance of surviving a busy Tuesday.

Then put a date on your calendar to read the obituary again in 90 days. Compare it with how you actually lived that quarter. Keep the standard and adjust the plan.

Over time, this practice can shift your life in quiet ways. You'll start making decisions with the final paragraph in mind. You'll protect time that once disappeared. And the people around you will begin to experience the man you described.

Action Items From Today

1. Write the draft tonight. Set a timer for 20 minutes and write the obituary you'd want read about you. Include your faith, family, friendships, work, and character.
2. Audit last week against it. Review your calendar and texts from the past seven days. Mark what supports the paragraph and what contradicts it.
3. Ask one honest question. Ask a spouse, close friend, or trusted colleague what people would remember about you today. Listen without explaining or defending.
4. Pick one sentence and act on it. Choose a single line from your draft and schedule one specific action this week that makes it more true.
5. Schedule the 90-day reread. Put a date on your calendar to revisit the obituary and compare it with how you lived the previous quarter.

Five Bridges Challenges

• Spiritual: Read Psalm 90:12 and spend ten minutes in prayer asking God to show you which part of your obituary you are neglecting. Write down what comes to mind.
• Relationships: Identify the person most likely to speak at your funeral. Call them this week, not to talk about legacy, but to spend real time together.
• Legacy: Write down three things you want your children or the people you lead to carry forward. Choose one way to teach or model each before the year ends.

The final paragraph is still being written. You get to influence it every day you're given, through the way you love, lead, and serve.

If you want a group of men who will hold you to the life you described, Bridge Builder Mastermind is where this work gets done in a small cohort of operators.

Inspire & Impact,

Josh