Fourteen years ago, a coworker of mine died while I was traveling in Turkey. He was in his early 50s.

Yesterday, Timehop brought back something I wrote when I heard the news, and reading it all these years later hit me differently. I remembered how excited he'd been about my trip. He wanted to hear the stories and see the pictures when I got home. One of the last things he said to me was, “I’d like to go there someday.” While I was in Turkey, he unexpectedly died while vacationing with his wife.

At the time, I wrote that I was experiencing an odd kind of grief. Of course I was mourning him, and my heart broke for his wife, but there was something else underneath it that I couldn't quite identify. Fourteen years later, I think I finally can.

I was grieving the life he thought he still had time to live.

He Never Got His Someday

That's the part that has stayed with me. He wasn't 90. He wasn't at the end of a long illness with everyone knowing that time was running out. He was a man in his early 50s who assumed, just as most of us do, that there would be more trips, more dinners, more conversations, more birthdays and more chances to finally do the things he'd been putting off.

Turkey was one of those things. There were undoubtedly hundreds of others. Places he wanted to see, people he meant to call, restaurants he wanted to try, experiences he figured he'd get around to when work wasn't so busy or the timing was better. We all have that list, whether we've actually written it down or not.

His death made me realize that sometimes we're not grieving only the person who died. We're grieving all the tomorrows they never got to use. And there's something deeply unsettling about recognizing how casually we assume our own pile of tomorrows is endless.

We Treat Time Like It’s a Savings Account

Most of us are remarkably comfortable postponing our lives. We'll take the trip someday. We'll lose the weight first. We'll wait until retirement. We'll do it when the house is paid off, when work settles down, when our knees feel better or when there's a little more money in the bank. We'll wear the swimsuit when we've lost 20 pounds. We'll travel alone when we're more confident. We'll try the clothing-optional resort when we're in better shape.

Of course, sometimes waiting makes sense. We have responsibilities, budgets, families and obligations. I'm not suggesting everybody cash out their retirement accounts, buy a one-way ticket to Greece and start drinking ouzo before breakfast. Although I've heard worse plans. But there's a difference between waiting for a reason and waiting out of habit. We keep putting life on layaway as though somebody has guaranteed we'll be around to pick it up.

Maybe that's one of the strangest things about getting older. At 25, five years feels like nothing. Eventually, five years starts feeling considerably more valuable. You begin realizing that time isn't something you're accumulating. You're spending it every single day, whether you're paying attention or not.

Your Body Doesn’t Have to Be Finished Before Your Life Begins

Body image gives us another convenient reason to wait. I've spent years talking with men about body acceptance, body positivity for men, the nudist lifestyle, social nudity and naturism, and I hear variations of the same sentence constantly: I'll do it when I lose some weight. I'll go when I'm in better shape. I'll feel comfortable when I look better.

One of the things travel and clothing optional experiences have taught me is how quickly the fantasy of the "right" body falls apart when you're surrounded by actual human beings. Real bodies have bellies, scars, wrinkles, gray hair, sagging parts and surgical reminders. They've gained weight and lost weight and gained some back. They've lived. And they're still swimming, laughing, traveling, flirting, making friends and having a wonderful time.

That's why I think body acceptance can be much simpler than we've made it. You don't have to stand naked in front of a mirror every morning shouting, “Damn, I'm magnificent!” Sometimes it's simply deciding, “This is the body I have today, and I'm not going to postpone my life because of it.” There's a connection there between mental health and nudity that goes beyond being naked. It's about dropping the performance for a while and discovering how exhausting it was to carry in the first place.

Maybe It Isn’t Turkey for You

Maybe you've never wanted to go to Turkey. Maybe naked travel sounds wonderful to you, or maybe you'd rather chew aluminum foil. That's not really the point. The question is: What's your Turkey?

Maybe it's Paris. Maybe it's traveling alone for the first time. Maybe it's finally booking the cruise you've been looking at for three years. Maybe it's swimming naked under the stars, learning Spanish, going dancing again, taking your shirt off at the beach without spending the afternoon worrying about your stomach, calling an old friend or walking into a room where you don't know anybody.

We spend an astonishing amount of our lives waiting for permission nobody is actually withholding. Sometimes the thing standing between us and an experience isn't money, age, our body or circumstances. Sometimes it's simply fear dressed up as practicality.

There Are Things Worse Than Feeling Awkward

As we get older, I think the question gradually changes. Instead of asking, “Will people approve?” or “What if I feel uncomfortable?” we begin asking something far more useful: “Do I want to spend part of the life I have left doing this?”

That's not morbid. I think it's liberating. Trying something new can be uncomfortable. Traveling alone can be uncomfortable. Walking into a room full of strangers can be uncomfortable. Taking your clothes off around other people for the first time can definitely be uncomfortable. But discomfort isn't always a warning that you're doing something wrong. Sometimes it's simply the feeling of your life getting a little bigger.

You don't have to climb Everest, become a nudist or sell your house and backpack through Southeast Asia. Just don't automatically say no because something makes your stomach flutter. Curiosity deserves a vote, too.

Fourteen Years Later

Reading that old post yesterday transported me back to the man I was when I wrote it. I could hear the confusion in my own words. I knew my coworker's death was teaching me something; I simply couldn't articulate it yet.

Fourteen years later, I can.

Tomorrow is incredibly useful for planning. It’s terrible for living.

There will always be another reason to wait. Your body could be better. Your bank account could be bigger. Work could be quieter. You could be thinner, younger or more confident. The timing could be perfect. But perfect timing may be one of life's great scams.

Sometimes you book the ticket scared. Sometimes you walk into the room alone. Sometimes you take off the shirt. Sometimes you introduce yourself. Sometimes you say yes before you've completely talked yourself into it. And sometimes you go to Turkey.

Because somewhere in my memories is a man in his early 50s who wanted to go there someday.

He reminds me that someday isn't promised to any of us. So whatever your Turkey is, maybe it's worth asking yourself: What exactly am I waiting for?