Exactly, this is the most cliché of all adult topics, yet serious to ponder. There will always be a restless Homo sapiens, in one day, forced to sign off life with unfinished business.
You draft your plans of the evermore. Or maybe, stumbled on typical stories like those who get drunk resulting in having offspring, a deviation from what once dominated as an ideal, youthful plan. But alibi came first.
In the meantime, the great mother of commerce has a plan to ease up as many pet peeves and inconveniences as possible.
Then, you realize, one day, your pet dog smartened up to plan an antic, as cute as he executes it. And you're hooked!
With the proper handling of priorities, in between compelling moves and sweet distractions, you had unfinished business.
What you always do with expertise and ease is your priority. If you keep on scrubbing the bathroom right after taking the breakfast, it would only be as important as your own noble back story of it. If you tipped specks of dust off the leather seat of your sports car before carelessly trekking the mileage, you'll never know if it would send you back as the best carcass.
And so -- what would you regret most, in case you hit an unexpected major accident?
Could they be some computer file back-ups to be relinquished? But oops, the data are too cryptic for anyone to figure out now. Does it even interest anyone? For sure, some unshared password of secret bank accounts is more than enough to make you ghost-haunt your kid. Could it be the unsaid property in Island Z, the one redeemed for an ape business, promising enough to fund one generation? But it remained a secret. How about the settlement of toxic arrears, which is a matter of one day of signing, would separate you from that deep turmoil within! If it is not blunt to say, having unfinished business is the significance of life support machines.
Should we wait long enough before we turn over our pertinent tasks?
How will it end is this life's cliffhanger.