Every day is a life, each night is a death. We wake up as new people, with the previous days experiences marking our consciousness and our bodies restored. We begin each day as an infant might, clinging to sleep, refusing to do anything other than rest. We eventually throw off the blanket and reach adolescence only to remain stuck there the whole day, doing nothing more than what pleases us and wasting our time with games. We focus on what is fun and procrastinate around what matters, finding later that we have wasted our lives by refusing to aspire to maturity. Few reach adulthood and act as a human being should, rising to the acts of someone worthy of our species, and working for himself and others. We would prefer to do what comes easily but this denies us fulfilment and in the end we waste our lives.
Treat each day as if it were all you had left, for it is, until you die a little death. If a single day can seem unimportant, then every subsequent day becomes less sacred. Of course, we live a day at a time so each is as essential as the last. It follows that the day constitutes our lives, and all that we are or will be that remains in conscious control lies within it. To throw it away would be to waste a life. How many lives have we wasted so far? How many can we afford to waste before we really die?