“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.”― Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol
“A man who dares to waste one hour of time has not discovered the value of life.”― Charles Darwin, The Life & Letters of Charles Darwin
Hello friend,
I just returned from a wonderful trip with my wife and kids to New York City. After walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, ferrying to the Statue of Liberty, absorbing the sobering power of the 9/11 Museum & Memorial, strolling Central Park, taking in a Broadway show, and gazing out over all of it from the 93rd floor of a skyscraper, you know what I felt the most when we arrived back home from this grand adventure?
RELIEF.
Yes, relief. Not because it was stressful to lead three people around a massive and hectic (and stinky) city they knew nothing about. Not because I needed to be sure two teenagers stayed entertained and as minimally teenagerish as possible. Not because we got stuck there two extra days with a dwindling supply of money and clean clothes (and perhaps patience). And not even because I am not a big fan of crowds and airplane travel. No, I felt this overwhelming sense of relief after the trip simply because we finally had a major family memory imprinted on us for life.
You see, I’m running out of time. My kids just turned 16 and 14 and I am beginning to freak out about losing them to adulthood and faraway lands and significant others. It’s not just that I love this fatherhood thing so much and can’t imagine how I will go on without them around every day—though that part is truly killing me—but rather that I feel this intense need for them to take with them out into the world the most beautiful and heart-warming memories about their childhoods. I just don’t have any time left to waste.
If another whole Summer had passed without a serious core-memory-maker for my kids, I don’t think I could have managed my disappointment in myself. It had been weighing on me for what felt like forever. I like the idea of providing them with a unique Summer adventure that they will remember forever. I think, memory-wise, it makes for a nice complement to annual destinations that they can count on. So I have been quite disciplined about doing ritual family trips to visit family at lakes in Minnesota, beaches in Florida, and frozen tundras in North Dakota. And I had been on the hunt for another grand outlier.
I love that when I look back to the halcyon days of my youth, I can say things like, “We always went to my cousin’s rustic cabin at the lake in the Summer,” or, “We always stayed at my grandparents’ house on weekends.” Honestly, I don’t have a clue how often we were really there, but the way it imprinted on my mind at that age, it felt like we were always taking those visits. The thought brings a smile to my face, no matter how accurate it is.
Complementing those regular trips to the town two hours away where my parents grew up and all of my extended family seemed to live, my mind clings to the idea of a couple of big Summer road trips we took with my Mom in the family van during my elementary school years. One was to Nashville and one was to Boston. My Dad had a convention and would fly into the city, leaving my poor Mom to command the traveling circus of five kids across the country, hopped up on Coke (Mom) and Mello Yello (kids). FIVE KIDS! Could she possibly have enjoyed it??? I cannot imagine the stress of managing the five of us in a car going across town, much less the COUNTRY! A small-town lady about five feet tall accustomed to gravel roads or two-lane highways rolling through Chicago, finding campgrounds in the middle of nowhere in the dark of night, and then pulling up to the fancy hotel in downtown Boston with five feral children tumbling out of the car hoping my old man would be there to meet us. It is mind-blowing to me, and I would love to know if she found it worth the headache. But my goodness, when I think back to those trips, even though the specifics are hazy, I have nothing but a happy glow around all of the memories. I am so, so grateful that we did that together as a family while we had the chance.
That happy glow is exactly why I am so pressed to get these core memories formed in my children’s minds. I want them to look back glowingly not just about the ritual family spots but also the signature Summer adventures. Five years ago, when it seemed like they were finally able to really roadtrip (as a verb), we took a giant, 15-day drive out to the mountains and camped in Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks. It was the best! Not realizing how quickly they were going to grow up, I didn’t feel so much urgency to plan the next big one. Finally a couple of years ago, we loaded up the car again for another big one centered around Washington, DC. Again, amazing. So much family bonding and signature memories. Last Summer I surrendered to the idea of doing a trip just with my wife for our 20th anniversary. While it was so much fun, the unfortunate effect was that it ate up the Summer’s vacation days and dollars.
That set me up for the sudden existential panic that came over me this Spring when I realized that we probably only had two Summers left with the four of us all together. After my pleading with Father Time to stop his wicked game showed no signs of success, it struck me like a slap in the face the urgency to get a major memory-maker on the books. I knew that if I failed to finish this parenting-of-children thing strongly, I would regret it for the rest of my life (which I am also trying to finish strongly, with only slightly less urgency). After months of vague discussions about possible destinations (the Northeast? the Canadian Rockies? the Pacific Northwest?), Summer arrived without anything firm. My panic deepened and added a terrible layer or DREAD. What if we don’t do something the kids will always remember? What if I am not demonstrating to them just how important family and adventures (and family adventures) are? Will they not have their childhoods bathed in that happy glow I still have when I think of mine?
I carried the dread of those questions not just through the booking of the trip but all through the planning. I tried to leave it there, knowing I did my best to plan a great trip for all of us. But I realized when we finally got home that I had carried a bit of the dread with me even across the Brooklyn Bridge, to the Statue of Liberty, through the museums and up Broadway to Central Park, and all the way to the top of the skyscraper. It was only when it was all over and it seemed that everyone had had fun and made good memories that I finally let it go.
For a moment.
Of course, now I am thinking about it again and realizing that Father Time kept playing while we were gone. Now I have even less time to play with my kids and to make magic. I realize that I will feel that Tick-Tick-Tick increasing its speed with each passing month until they are gone. The pressure to both savor every moment and do all of the best stuff with them will only grow. There is no use kidding myself. College is two years from now. I’m on the clock. I better nail this.
This acknowledgment of my stress and dread about the countdown to college and maximizing my time has me thinking about the many forms this curse takes in the course of a lifetime. I suppose most of us feel some version of this urgency to do something before it’s too late.
The biggest regret I can think of from my childhood is not going out for the high school basketball team even though I loved the sport and my friends played. I had been a hockey player through middle school and when I decided to stop that, I secretly fantasized about becoming a basketball player. However, every year from 9th grade onward, when it came time to try out for the team, I told myself that it was too late, that these kids had been playing since elementary school. No parent or coach ever asked me if I was interested or nudged me to do it, and I took my secret with me all the way through school, all the time pining to play. When I think back to that time, I wasn’t too late in 9th grade and maybe not in 10th—I was a good enough athlete to catch right up—but I didn’t believe that. I thought I had missed the deadline for starting and it really ate at me. I think I have been keenly aware of the vanishing nature of time and opportunities ever since.
I think of my kids in high school and their friends, being embarrassed if they got a phone after everyone else or whether they might be the last one to get a girlfriend or boyfriend. I think about couples struggling with fertility, wondering if they are becoming too old to become pregnant or if their future child, however it might arrive, will be embarrassed that its parents are so old. I wonder about the estranged parent who thinks if they wait any longer to reach out, they may never again get a chance to have a relationship with their kids. I think about the person with substance abuse or other mental health problems who may not be able to make it much longer if they don’t ask for help. I wonder about, for all the time I spend thinking about a pivot in my career, at what point it will actually become too late to make one. I often think about my parents, both hovering around 80, wondering how much confidence they have left in their abilities to be adventurous and what things they are urgent to get to before they are truly out of time.
Based on my current trajectory, I cannot imagine that this issue becomes less urgent with age. I understand that we are all built differently and that some things that stress me may not be of much concern to you. It just feels like this is one thing that touches all of our lives at one point or another, and for some of us (me) at all points in our lives. I seem to be constantly aware of Time and how I am using my allotment of it, particularly how much Beauty and Wonder I can squeeze out of what little I have left. There just never seems to be enough for me to do it all.
How about you? At this point in your timeline, what is the thing you feel like you are running out of time to complete? Open up your journal and explore the distance between where you are and where you want to be? How much time would it require to take the steps necessary to get you to that destination? Is it a long process or just a simple step that you have merely been putting off? How big is your window of time for this project? Will it close rapidly? How do you think you would feel if you missed it? Can you live with that? What are the potential upcoming milestone-type events in your life? Marriage? Child-bearing? Relocation? Career change? Divorce? Lifestyle change? Empty nest? Retirement? Loss of mobility? Death? Is it these larger life events that you seem to be racing against when it comes to your To-Do List, or is it more subtle or personal markers? Are there things you feel you need to do before you can feel fulfilled? What is keeping you from taking the necessary steps? Is it money, lack of time, fear, something else? What small thing could you do today that might create momentum in the direction you need to go? In the end of your life, do you think you would regret more trying to get this done and failing, or not trying at all and never knowing whether or not you could have made it happen? Are you willing to live with that regret? How quickly do you believe you can change your situation or the path of your life? Do you feel this urgency increase or decrease the older you get? Leave me a reply and let me know: What are you running out of time to do?
Keep taking steps,
William
P.S. If this topic resonated with you today, please share it with your people. Let’s support each other in becoming the best version of ourselves, one brave act at a time.
P.P.S. If this way of examining your life appeals to you, consider buying my book, Journal of YOU: Uncovering The Beauty That Is Your Truth, at your favorite online retailers. Namaste.