Nick Bibeau✍🏻

9 Months ago I walked into a Coffee Shop... I saw the most stunningly beautiful girl I'd ever seen. My heart beat out of my chest. I had to know her name. Flash forward to last night. By the bay At sunset. I'm down on one knee. Asking her to marry me. And she said YES! When I first saw her 9 months ago... Making espressos. Wearing a work apron. Her long jet-black hair pulled back into a ponytail. I had one thought: "I need to talk to this girl." I started going to that coffee shop every chance I could... But every time I went this mystery girl wouldn't be at the register to take my order. Until one day (visit 20 or so) I caught her. I was nervous but managed to ask: "How's your day going?" "Good. How about you?" Her voice was as beautiful as her face... "Really good. I finally get to order with you." She smiled, blushed, and laughed. "I'm Nick. What's your name?" She told me her name. It was 15 letters and 5 syllables long. "Wow! That's the longest name I've ever heard." "I'm Mongolian. We have long names." Then I did something ballsy. I handed her my phone and asked: "Can you spell it?" She typed her name into my contacts. "Put your number in there too. I want to hear your stories about growing up in Mongolia." To my amazement. She did. After 2 weeks of texting and more coffee shop visits... I talked her into going on a date. We ended up talking for over 3 hours. Despite the laugh barrier, we seem to really understand each other at a deep level. And the understanding and love have grown exponentially since. She's the most... Interesting Beautiful Feminine Loving Kind ...woman I've ever met in my life. And by some strange miracle... She loves me. ... Here's the thing y'all. I'm gonna keep it real. I know I'm not "The most desirable man" out there. I'm not tall (5'7") I'm not the best-looking I have a divorce and 2 children (I have a good career) but I'm not rich But I was... Open Hoest Genunie ...with my girl from the first moment. I use all the courage I have to... Open my heart Tell her my true intentions And take care of her as best I could ... every time I interact with her. She fell in love with me for who I really am. I fall deeper in love with her the more she shows me her true heart and soul. I can't put into words how blessed I feel that she came into my life. I'm looking forward to building a life and family with her more than I could ever capture in this short post. I want to share our story in the hope that it's a testament to the real, raw, beautiful love that is out there for all of us. God bless. – at California, USA

I'm ghostwriting a book with a man who, in his own words: "Could die any day." He is older and has a lot of health conditions. And he is currently in the hospital. There's a lesson I'm learning from working with him that I think applies to everyone. There's a desperateness in his voice, which you only hear in someone who knows their time is limited. He wants to get his story out. I've spent about two hours on the phone with him every week for the last month. He's basically given me his whole life story several times over. And I've been writing frantically to get it all down into one coherent story. He'll read it, say that he loves it, and then think of new stories or people from his life that we haven't covered yet. He'll ask me urgently to get on another phone call so we can tell those stories. Introduce me to new people. The characters that made up his lifetime. And do everything he can to make sure nothing is left on the table before we send this book to publication. But it's so clear to me that this is about so much more than a book. This is his legacy.
This is what he leaves behind. And because he knows he doesn't have much time left, there's a palpable urgency in every conversation. The lesson for me personally, and I think for everyone, is this: When you get to the end of your life, you may feel an overwhelming desire to make sure you're leaving a piece of yourself behind. To make sure your stories and hard-earned lessons don't die with you. It's something I've been thinking and writing about for years. And it became even more painfully true after my near-death experience and having a gun pointed in my face. I'm honored to do the work of telling this man's story. But if I'm being totally honest, I do worry that he may not be able to hold the book in his hand and have the reassurance that it's being left for the people he cares about. It's out of both of our hands. The only thing I can do is what I've learned to do best. Listen closely.
With all my attention.
And an open heart. And write like it may be my last time.
 Every time. Because for all of us, it just might be. And if we leave the stories and the lessons inside of us, they will die with us. Just another painful reminder of how important it is to… Write Already.

Autumn is nature's display of aging, and dying, gracefully. As leaves let go of their vibrant green and give way to the blend of yellow, orange and red waiting underneath. Time slowly takes away the life they had known. And at the perfect moment, each one is released from its home. We can learn so much from watching this process. Since I was a little boy, one of my favorite things to watch was leaves floating down from trees in the fall. There's an exquisite effortlessness to it. An acceptance and inevitability that feels like the most natural thing in the world. The leaves seem to trust that the wind will carry them to a new, unknown and mysterious place. They aren't panicked or grasping for control of the journey. But letting reality hold them. They land gracefully on the ground, united with the family who have fallen before them. And waiting for the others whose time will come. With time they melt into the soil and get to work creating the rich earth that feeds the very tree they came from. Their ending becomes the beginning of something new. Come spring, fresh green will unfold on the same branches they once called home. Maybe that's the lesson. That letting go isn't an end. That we don't have to fight the changing of our seasons. We can let our true colors show, trust the wind, and fall with grace. Knowing that what we give back will help the next generation grow. Nature has a way of showing the interconnectedness of the cycle in a moment in time. And for me, when I watch the leaf falling, I see my place in eternity.

I'm 37 today. The average American man lives to 76.5. Statistically, I'm 15 months from midlife. The visceral reality of this point in my life story arc is staring me in the face. Almost half of my life may be behind me. And just at the point where it feels like I'm figuring this thing out. I meditate on the fact that this life is a temporary gift every single day. Not because I'm morbid, as some of my friends would say, but because I believe the opposite is true. Truly facing the reality that life is temporary, that I'm going to die, is the most life-affirming practice I've ever found. Because it gives me the kick in the ass I need to Really Live. I can only put things off if I think I have unlimited time. But the fact of mortality puts the unmistakable emphasis on the value of time. Of presence. Of not missing this moment in all its juicy reality. And it affirms my life's work. I'm here to write. Why? Because it's painfully apparent to me that when I do face the literal end, the one thing I know will outlive me longer and more fully than anything else is the written word, and the stories it carries. So if I have 39.5 more years in this incarnation... I've got 2,061 weeks to write something meaningful to leave behind. I've got 14,427 days to spend with the people I care about. And an untold number of moments to be fully present in, to soak up every bit of magic this life has to offer. I never want to take one of these for granted. In the words of one of my favorite songwriters, Mike Posner: "I want to live live live the way I want to want to live. And I hope you do too."

If anyone still cares about writing well, without AI, take some notes ⬇️

Went to the ballet Friday night with Wifey. It was a better experience than anything I’ve watched on Netflix this year. I was more captivated and moved than any YouTube video or IG reel. There’s an obvious lesson in this: As AI continues to take over what we used to call art, there’s something it can’t replicate. Ballerinas who first put on ballet shoes at 3 years old, now soaring through the air like gravity forgot them. Costume and makeup designers who pull you into another world with every detail they choose. Music from Bach, Debussy, Chopin. The kind that gets under your skin and into your bloodstream. It takes you out of your head and someplace else entirely. Thousands of hours. Broken feet. Failed rehearsals. Hearts poured into a single night on stage. You can feel it. That’s the point. This is why I still write without AI. Am I optimizing for sentence structure? No. Is every word choice perfect? Definitely not. Do my typos still slip through? You’ve seen them. But there’s something that can only come from a human being struggling to capture something uncapturable. With words. With music. With a story. With a leap through the air. The struggle is what makes it art. And no machine will ever struggle for you.