Yesterday I heard a commentator pondering what to do with an extra hour this weekend. He suggested a number of options from reading one of several books that he had purchased but never had time to read to starting or completing a number of projects around the house. I used my extra hour this weekend to attend a fascinating lecture. It felt like a guilty pleasure, and because I had an extra hour, it was mine to indulge.
The commentary got me started thinking, not only about what to do with the extra hour this weekend, but also about settling into a normal work schedule. After a year of 11- and 12-hour days, would I know how to use two extra hours each day? Last week I worked in a different organization and I was able to leave almost-on-time two days.
I found myself at loose ends when I got home at 6. I did a number of little projects, including making phone calls to businesses that are usually closed by the time I got home. But, mostly I frittered the time away without focus. I couldn't remember when I hadn't felt like I was on a dead-run from project to project without time to breathe. Suddenly, I had time to exhale, and I'd forgotten how.
The commentary yesterday reminded me that I didn't have an extra hour in a weekend, but would soon have an extra two hours a day. I want to be intentional about what I do with the gift of an extra day each week. I am not sure that I've ever really appreciated what a gift time is, and there are things I really want to make sure that I accomplish. What would take me where I wanted to go? I had some ideas.
Yesterday I entertained some special women friends for a lazy, lingering brunch. After they were gone, and I'd cleaned up my kitchen, I decided that Job One was cleaning off my desk. Actually, that isn't quite right. My desk was clean, but only because I'd gathered up the mess before my guests arrived and shoved it into a closet. Intuitively, I knew that I couldn't be intentional about dispensing with my extra hours if I didn't know what was in my stack.
I reduced the stack by half and then started a list. Writing is on the top of it. I hope that you will soon be seeing more regular posts to this blog because I have a full page of notes about posts to write. My head was literally spinning with all the ideas. More came this morning in church. Others have popped in this afternoon. I felt like cleaning the desk had cleared out thinking room in my brain.
Getting back in shape is right up there too. Exercising isn't really competing for writing with Number One. Exercising is how I used to clear the cobwebs of the day's activities from my brain so that I could listen. Exercising feels more to me like how I facilitate writing than competition with writing for time.
On the desk, I also found my list of last-day items that I'd created after a blog post last winter about living each day as if it is your last. Since it got buried in the stack, nothing more had been accomplished. The list has worked its way to the top of my stack.
Amazingly for me, that is where I stopped, and that's a good thing. I tend to be someone who makes big lists and then accomplishes just a few items before either becoming overwhelmed or getting distracted. I think it is good that I am being very intentional about how I will use my extra day each week.
I also think it is good that I don't fill every moment with replacement activities. I want to have time to exhale; that is something I don't want to forget. Who knows? When I exhale, I might just make space to breathe in new and wonderful miracles that I can't anticipate. That is where I allow God to be God.
Showing posts with label living like this were your last day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living like this were your last day. Show all posts
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Living Like It Was My Last Day--Part II
Back in November, I published a post about living each day like it was my last. (11/28/13) That was really about doing things on my "bucket list"--those things I've known for a long time that I wanted to do before I died. Earlier this week (3/11) I wrote about not putting off those things that we yearn to do. I firmly believe in the importance of doing those things in life, and I regret that time seems to pass so quickly that whole years pass in a blink without more of them happening.
Last night's movie viewing started me thinking about living each day like it was my last in a different way. If this happened to be the last day of my life, what regrets would I want to fix? Who would I want to forgive? What frayed relationships would I want to mend? To whom would I want to say "I love you?" To whom would I want to thank or express gratitude? This train of thought opens a whole new set of possibilities of living without regret.
I've often wondered why it is that people who haven't spoken to each other for decades wait until their final days of life to mend fences and express regrets. Of how many hours or days of joy have they robbed themselves? Why is it that all those years during which the pride was so hard to swallow, but when the end is near, those are the people that they want to see, to touch, and to love again?
I have someone who was very special to me for the first 20 years of my life. I have only seen her incidentally two or three times since then. We started talking by phone again 10 years or so ago. I would really love to see her again. I would crawl on my hands and knees halfway across the country to see her again, but when I've asked she says, "No." While I know I am responsible for the frayed relationship in the first place, I ache that my olive branches have been spurned. She is much older than I, and each time we speak I hope that she doesn't die before I see her.
As I reflect upon it, there are people that have been special to me and with whom I don't have frayed relationships, but as we've moved around the country, I've just lost touch. If this were the last day of my life, I'd like to have one last conversation, a good laugh, and one final hug. In these days of the Internet and Skype, there is no reason for me not to have that conversation and laugh, although the hug will be a bit more challenging. Facebook has given us the illusion that if we connect as "friends," we are really connected, but Facebook knows nothing about an afternoon laughing and spinning stories together over coffee.
In the last 15 hours or so since I've been thinking about this other side of the "last day," I've also thought about unspoken or under-spoken gratitude. It is funny how people have just popped into my mind that I haven't thought about for decades. I don't know why, but my high school government teacher has just been hovering there. I would love to thank her for the passion she instilled in me for government watching. I went on to major in political science, and politics-watching has been my favorite indoor sport for all of my adulthood...and probably before. I remember impassioned debates with my father, lingering at the dinner table, when I was still in school. I don't know if she's even still alive, but I think it is time to reach out.
I think, too, about nameless people to whom I will be eternally grateful, like that college advisor that suggested that he thought I might find another career more satisfying than accounting, a potential job I'd selected because I thought it would always be secure. After all, we always need accountants, no matter what the economy is. EEK! While I completely value those who do this work, it is mostly so I don't have to do it. I am sure I would have slit my wrists in a few short months.
Writing this blog seems to have the effect of causing me to start a lot of lists, and while I don't always make it through all of them, the intention gets me started. Sometimes I do make it through the whole list after a few months: this list seems too important not to write.
Last night's movie viewing started me thinking about living each day like it was my last in a different way. If this happened to be the last day of my life, what regrets would I want to fix? Who would I want to forgive? What frayed relationships would I want to mend? To whom would I want to say "I love you?" To whom would I want to thank or express gratitude? This train of thought opens a whole new set of possibilities of living without regret.
I've often wondered why it is that people who haven't spoken to each other for decades wait until their final days of life to mend fences and express regrets. Of how many hours or days of joy have they robbed themselves? Why is it that all those years during which the pride was so hard to swallow, but when the end is near, those are the people that they want to see, to touch, and to love again?
I have someone who was very special to me for the first 20 years of my life. I have only seen her incidentally two or three times since then. We started talking by phone again 10 years or so ago. I would really love to see her again. I would crawl on my hands and knees halfway across the country to see her again, but when I've asked she says, "No." While I know I am responsible for the frayed relationship in the first place, I ache that my olive branches have been spurned. She is much older than I, and each time we speak I hope that she doesn't die before I see her.
As I reflect upon it, there are people that have been special to me and with whom I don't have frayed relationships, but as we've moved around the country, I've just lost touch. If this were the last day of my life, I'd like to have one last conversation, a good laugh, and one final hug. In these days of the Internet and Skype, there is no reason for me not to have that conversation and laugh, although the hug will be a bit more challenging. Facebook has given us the illusion that if we connect as "friends," we are really connected, but Facebook knows nothing about an afternoon laughing and spinning stories together over coffee.
In the last 15 hours or so since I've been thinking about this other side of the "last day," I've also thought about unspoken or under-spoken gratitude. It is funny how people have just popped into my mind that I haven't thought about for decades. I don't know why, but my high school government teacher has just been hovering there. I would love to thank her for the passion she instilled in me for government watching. I went on to major in political science, and politics-watching has been my favorite indoor sport for all of my adulthood...and probably before. I remember impassioned debates with my father, lingering at the dinner table, when I was still in school. I don't know if she's even still alive, but I think it is time to reach out.
I think, too, about nameless people to whom I will be eternally grateful, like that college advisor that suggested that he thought I might find another career more satisfying than accounting, a potential job I'd selected because I thought it would always be secure. After all, we always need accountants, no matter what the economy is. EEK! While I completely value those who do this work, it is mostly so I don't have to do it. I am sure I would have slit my wrists in a few short months.
Writing this blog seems to have the effect of causing me to start a lot of lists, and while I don't always make it through all of them, the intention gets me started. Sometimes I do make it through the whole list after a few months: this list seems too important not to write.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
If not now, when?
Anne Sweeney, a senior executive at the Disney ABC Television Group, announced today that she will retire early next year. Assuming the picture that looked down over Diane Sawyer's shoulder is a recent one, the executive will be making an early retirement. The newscast announcement quoted Sweeney, "...there has always been a nagging voice in the back of my head pushing me to step out of the comfort zone of the executive ranks and more directly into the creative arena that enticed me to TV in the first place. I finally listened to that voice and thought, ‘if not now, when?’"
What a question! It landed on my ears the day after one of my favorite clients lost her battle with cancer. My client retired just about a year ago. She, too, took an early retirement: she wanted to play golf and spend more time watching her college age kids in dance competitions. She did that for three or four months before shocking diagnosis.
Sweeney's words, "If not now, when?" seemed to echo over and again in my head as I thought about my client. I am certain that she would have given anything to have answered that question a few years earlier.
When? Interesting question. People on both sides of my family live into the triple digits, so I both need to work longer to build enough of a nest egg to live on all those years and want to stay engaged. The idea of being retired almost as long as I've been alive isn't exactly inviting to me. And, if I get bored, I expect that reentering the work force at 85 or 90 might be challenging. So I toil on.
But, I'm sure that my client didn't expect the first year of her retirement to be the last year of her life. When, indeed?
I am not sure if it has happened with every generation, but I don't feel any different than I did at 30. I have gotten bored with what I do, but it is rewarding to help people experience more satisfaction in their work, and I am not inspired to do anything else.
As I write this, a little voice is whispering in my ear: it's not about the work. I am sure it is right. I've written before about living as if this were my last day, and who knows? Maybe it will be. We never really know. There are dozens of things that don't involve retirement that I want to do. Maybe it is time to look at that bucket list and figure out what I should be doing now instead of putting off for another year. If not now, when?
What a question! It landed on my ears the day after one of my favorite clients lost her battle with cancer. My client retired just about a year ago. She, too, took an early retirement: she wanted to play golf and spend more time watching her college age kids in dance competitions. She did that for three or four months before shocking diagnosis.
Sweeney's words, "If not now, when?" seemed to echo over and again in my head as I thought about my client. I am certain that she would have given anything to have answered that question a few years earlier.
When? Interesting question. People on both sides of my family live into the triple digits, so I both need to work longer to build enough of a nest egg to live on all those years and want to stay engaged. The idea of being retired almost as long as I've been alive isn't exactly inviting to me. And, if I get bored, I expect that reentering the work force at 85 or 90 might be challenging. So I toil on.
But, I'm sure that my client didn't expect the first year of her retirement to be the last year of her life. When, indeed?
I am not sure if it has happened with every generation, but I don't feel any different than I did at 30. I have gotten bored with what I do, but it is rewarding to help people experience more satisfaction in their work, and I am not inspired to do anything else.
As I write this, a little voice is whispering in my ear: it's not about the work. I am sure it is right. I've written before about living as if this were my last day, and who knows? Maybe it will be. We never really know. There are dozens of things that don't involve retirement that I want to do. Maybe it is time to look at that bucket list and figure out what I should be doing now instead of putting off for another year. If not now, when?
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
I love you!
Back in November (11/28/13) I wrote a post "Living Each Day As If It Were The Last." In that post I talked about being present to the richness of life every day so that we don't miss a thing. I believe it is true that if we live with that level of attention, life would be heaven on earth. Sadly, I think even the most conscious among us only scratch the surface of drinking in the whole experience. I am pretty certain that if anyone gets really close, they get "called home"--their learning is complete.
Sometimes I miss things: no, all the time I miss things. Maybe I should say that sometimes I am really present. But, sometimes I miss a lot. I seemed to have totally missed movies in the 80s and early 90s and TV for most of the 90s. There was other good stuff going on, but occasionally, I find that I am pop-culturally challenged. I just discovered a 90s sitcom--"Mad About You"-- that I have been binge-watching. I am pretty sappy about love, and "Mad About You" is totally unapologetic about love--all kinds of love.
One of the last episodes on the DVD collection was one in which Jamie (the wife) and Paul (the husband) discover that their regular UPS delivery man--young and good looking--just died. They contemplate the fragility of life and ponder the question I asked in November: what if this were the last day of our lives? They decide that they would want to tell all the people they love that they love them. And Paul and Jamie really love a lot of people. So they make a list and go about expressing their love to friends and family. Of course, it was a sitcom, so almost none of the gestures really lands like they intended. Their intentions were good nonetheless.
I truly believe that this question about the last day of our lives is an important one. I am confident that if it isn't the secret, it is one of the secrets to joy, peace, and happiness. I also know that I neglect people that I love--take them for granted, and I assume they know how I feel. I hope that I have more luck than Paul and Jamie did, but I feel like I want to start telling those in my life that I do love them. (Friends, be warned: I'm coming with love!)
In another episode, Paul and Jamie's daughter says, "It takes a lot of courage to be the first one to kiss." It does...and it takes a lot of courage to be vulnerable to love. That is what a lot of the awkwardness was about as they expressed love to friends and family. I know that I have guarded my heart. What if I tell someone I love them, and they don't feel like that? Or what if they misinterpret my intentions? To open the heart may be the ultimate act of courage. As I walk to the precipice, I am choosing love because everyday is the last day of my life. What more do I have to do that is more important than be vulnerable?
Sometimes I miss things: no, all the time I miss things. Maybe I should say that sometimes I am really present. But, sometimes I miss a lot. I seemed to have totally missed movies in the 80s and early 90s and TV for most of the 90s. There was other good stuff going on, but occasionally, I find that I am pop-culturally challenged. I just discovered a 90s sitcom--"Mad About You"-- that I have been binge-watching. I am pretty sappy about love, and "Mad About You" is totally unapologetic about love--all kinds of love.
One of the last episodes on the DVD collection was one in which Jamie (the wife) and Paul (the husband) discover that their regular UPS delivery man--young and good looking--just died. They contemplate the fragility of life and ponder the question I asked in November: what if this were the last day of our lives? They decide that they would want to tell all the people they love that they love them. And Paul and Jamie really love a lot of people. So they make a list and go about expressing their love to friends and family. Of course, it was a sitcom, so almost none of the gestures really lands like they intended. Their intentions were good nonetheless.
I truly believe that this question about the last day of our lives is an important one. I am confident that if it isn't the secret, it is one of the secrets to joy, peace, and happiness. I also know that I neglect people that I love--take them for granted, and I assume they know how I feel. I hope that I have more luck than Paul and Jamie did, but I feel like I want to start telling those in my life that I do love them. (Friends, be warned: I'm coming with love!)
In another episode, Paul and Jamie's daughter says, "It takes a lot of courage to be the first one to kiss." It does...and it takes a lot of courage to be vulnerable to love. That is what a lot of the awkwardness was about as they expressed love to friends and family. I know that I have guarded my heart. What if I tell someone I love them, and they don't feel like that? Or what if they misinterpret my intentions? To open the heart may be the ultimate act of courage. As I walk to the precipice, I am choosing love because everyday is the last day of my life. What more do I have to do that is more important than be vulnerable?
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