What happens when your life suddenly shrinks to a phone call? What happens when, in a minute, unexpectedly, your worries are reduced to whatever a voice on the other end of the line tells you? What happens when you realize your fragility, your finitude, your vulnerability?

These past few days, someone very important to me had a biopsy done on a lump. During a routine check-up, one of those you go to just to tick off a list, they found something that needed further analysis. After the analysis, they had to wait a few days for the hospital to call with the diagnosis.

Thank God everything has gone well, but all of this has made me think a lot about how your life can change in a second. As well as about that fragility that makes us who we are and that we don’t like to admit. About the finiteness of life and our vulnerability.

And even though I was living it with confidence and hoping that everything was going to be alright, when he told me it was as if a thief had appeared out of nowhere to take something of great value from me without my permission: the security of having everything under control and my desire to always know what will come next and next and next.

I was thinking about the number of things I take for granted, as if they came standard in every event or were already printed in reality, taking away that enormous value they have as a gift.

I was thinking about the value of the present. Of today. Of every minute and second of every day.

And you realize that you control almost nothing, or much less than you thought, and how, automatically, without thinking, your daily worries and concerns change. Those career aspirations that used to occupy so much of your day suddenly seem insignificant. That car upgrade you wanted to get also appears insignificant, and being first or being right is no longer the most important thing, not by a long shot.

And I was thinking about all the things we postpone, or that I myself postpone. Those messages I never send, those get-togethers I’ve been wanting to have for ages, but without lifting a finger to make them happen. I realized how they were climbing the ladder in my mind. I felt how that time spent at dinner, slowly and unhurriedly enjoying the conversation with my family, was the most precious part of my day, and how those “I’m sorry”s or “I love yous” that I kept putting off were just trying to burst out of my mouth.

And you realize you’re overly concerned with trivial things. That you’re wandering aimlessly, not focusing on what you truly want to fill your life with. That to attend to is to love, and to love to attend to, and that time is the most precious commodity you possess.

And suddenly you hear a voice inside you saying: Marta, Marta, you are worried about many things, but only one is important….

Because when we leave this world, what will remain is the love we’ve given. Something we’re tired of hearing, something that sounds like a cliché from a Mr. Wonderful mug, but when you’re waiting for that call, you see that it’s real. Because you’re not thinking about the car, your promotion, or the success of your presentation. You’re thinking about specific people, with their names and faces. Because material things wear out and get lost, but in love, the more you give, the more you have.

Meanwhile, these past few days, the funeral for the victims of the train accident in Córdoba has taken place. Forty-six lives cut short in a second. Forty-six faces. Forty-six hearts that will no longer beat in this world, and forty-six families broken by grief. My hair stood on end when I heard the words of Liliana, daughter of one of the deceased. Words full of pain and truth, which I invite you, dear reader, to listen to or read if you can.

“We are the 45 families who have learned, with too much cruelty, that the call not made is never made and the kiss not given is the one we remember most. We are the 45 families who would trade all the gold in the world, which is now worthless, to be able to move the hands of the clock by just 20 seconds.”

Once again, the fragility of this life made its presence felt in my small daily routine. In my small square meter. A fragility that reminded me once more of the wonder of each day’s gift. Of the gift of life.

Life passes quickly, especially if you don’t truly live it, if you limit yourself to the superficial. The routine of living with indifference, the noise, and the fast pace of the world we inhabit often lead us to lower our gaze, focusing only on the short term, the immediate, and the material. We see only what is perceptible to the senses, forgetting to lift our eyes and allow our hearts to perceive what only they can. That which cannot be weighed or measured by the world’s metrics, but whose absence leaves a gaping void.

A void we try to fill with things that will never truly fulfill us because we are meant for something so much greater. Because our deepest desire for goodness, kindness, and beauty—that which our hearts yearn for and which we call happiness—is not found in possessions and accumulation. But in love. In loving and being loved. In the love you give and the love you put forth. In every encounter. In every smile. In every act of selflessness.

Because not everything is acceptable, nor is everything the same, and how you choose to live each day matters a great deal. How you choose to respond to what happens, often beyond your control. Because what you want to fill your life with matters a great deal, and how you choose to relate to the other person you walk alongside. Your willingness to give and your openness to others matter a great deal. Living in the present moment matters a great deal. That which we receive each day as a gift.