Let’s play a game: pretend you knew you were going to drop dead in six months. And just for the fun of it, let’s also pretend you had a bunch of money that, within reason, gave you access to almost anything in the world.

Seriously, what would you do with your remaining time?

Late last night, when I played this game, I came up with a rather boring answer: I’d keep doing exactly what I have been doing, but more deliberately and mindfully. I’d go on my favorite hikes up the mountain and along the creek. I’d cup with both hands the faces of my German shepherd pups and kiss them on the nose. I’d soak in the bathtub with no clock in sight.

I’d get to the office early and greet each wonderful employee, iron my shirts with a hint of starch at night, hug Sherry a bunch whenever I caught up to her, have oatmeal with tons of cinnamon for dinner, read more about the entwined lives of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, sneak little slices of Wisconsin sharp cheddar cheese and search through my pants pockets for my lost keys.

Delving a layer deeper, I’d work hard to create a special Frontier Park in Northern Nevada where kids can play and learn with their parents and grandparents. I’d finish my book about the weird behaviors of people as seen from a dog’s perspective. I’d tell the people I love more often that I love them, and precisely why I love them. I’d work smarter at leaving a self-sustaining corporation. I’d tell my children cool little stories about my parents. Maybe I’d play more, although that’s always been a specialty of mine.

Six months left. 180 days. How would you play the game?