Minutes Matter

Aging is about embracing change and making every minute count.

It’s not about wrinkles and arthritis. It’s not about downsizing to a smaller place where you don’t have to mow the lawn or even clean your own house.

It is about time.
And it’s about how we use the time we are allotted.

When we talk about the time we have left on this earth, it’s pretty sobering. My brother, who was a very healthy guy, died at 75. That is only 5 years from my current age.

This reality raises some “what if” questions.

What if I only have five more summers, five more birthdays, or five more anniversaries? What if we have just five more Christmas gatherings with our family? How do we wish them to remember those gatherings? You know, ten years from now, when they say, “Remember when Grandpa came out wearing that crazy wig?” or “What was that cheesy potato recipe we had at Nani and Papa’s house for Christmas?” Or better yet, “I loved when Papa read the Bible to us before we opened our gifts. We should do that again.”

My mother lived till eighty-six. That’s a mere fourteen years from now. How many of those years will I still be able to do the things I can do today? I don’t know. Only God knows, and he’s not sharing that information with us. That thought prompts me to say “yes” more often to a bike ride, a hike in the mountains, or even to engage in a complex board game. The other day, my eleven-year-old grandson asked me to play catch with him. My knee gave out twice! How many times have I passed up the chance to throw a ball with him because I was busy putting on a dinner or busy with something else? Now, I always grab the moment, even if I also have to grab my knee. I want him to remember the day I played catch with him.

Aging with our friends is sobering. When we attended our 40^th high school reunion, there was a candlelit memorial table, commemorating “those who have gone before us.” That was eye-opening. Ten years later, at our 50th reunion, we enjoyed seeing old(er) friends, dancing together, sharing memories. In the corner of the room was that candlelit memorial table. The list of our departed classmates had doubled. You cannot avoid this reality, but you can create a life where every minute is honored and enjoyed.

Each time I am with family and friends, I am reminded that it could be one of, if not THE last time we are together. It might be the last opportunity for a hug, or to tell someone how much they mean to me. So, the time I spend with people these days is critically important. I want to be present, listening to their words, their worries, their plans, loving them, serving them, holding onto every moment. It becomes easier for me to put down all distractions, turn off my cell phone or leave it in another room, and be fully engaged in the conversation, and especially listening — intently. I find that I treasure these minutes more than I ever have before.

I’m sure there are times when my family may feel that I ask too much of them. I invite them to come visit, join us for dinner, go for a swim, or enjoy a movie with us. I must remember that they are fully immersed in that very busy time of their life, and their calendar doesn’t have much room for older people. That’s truly understandable. We were once young and crazy-busy, too. I recall how my parents expanded their circle of friends during those years. They traveled more, began hobbies, and pursued their own interests. We could not be their “friends” as our lives were filled with growing our own marriage, raising kids, negotiating our education, working long hours, and fixing up our house. I’m sure they longed to know how and what we were doing, but they never required more from us than we could give. We don’t expect anything different in our relationship with our kids. We were them once! We do understand. Growing old cannot be  something our kids can understand yet. I suppose I want them to know that this is a new journey for us, too! So many new feelings and needs, some of them terribly uncomfortable.

I am profoundly aware that I have passed the halfway point in my life. As young people, we think that the older people in our lives will be there forever. Perhaps that’s why death is so shocking to them. “But I thought we had more time.”

We have two choices in how we spend our days: alone or with others. For me, “the extrovert”, I choose the latter. I long to be surrounded by familiar people. Listening to them is the best. Hearing them talk about their childhood memories, the experiences they recall that we may never have known about. We desire to know that they are okay, in their work, their home, and their life. The noise of their laughter and conversations drowns out the ticking of the clock.

But the quiet, reflective times are also good. The ticking of the clock is a reminder that we are still here, moving forward.

Our minutes matter.

Aging

It’s not about wrinkles and arthritis. It’s not about downsizing to a smaller place where you don’t have to mow the lawn or even clean your own house.

It is about time.
And it’s about how we use the time we are allotted.

When we talk about the time we have left on this earth, it’s pretty sobering. My brother, who was a very healthy guy, died at 75. That is only 5 years from my current age.

This reality raises some “what if” questions.

What if I only have five more summers, five more birthdays, or five more anniversaries? What if we have just five more Christmas gatherings with our family? How do we wish them to remember those gatherings? You know, ten years from now, when they say, “Remember when Grandpa came out wearing that crazy wig?” or “What was that cheesy potato recipe we had at Nani and Papa’s house for Christmas?” Or better yet, “I loved when Papa read the Bible to us before we opened our gifts. We should do that again.”

My mother lived till eighty-six. That’s a mere fourteen years from now. How many of those years will I still be able to do the things I can do today? I don’t know. Only God knows, and he’s not sharing that information with us. That thought prompts me to say “yes” more often to a bike ride, a hike in the mountains, or even to engage in a complex board game. The other day, my eleven-year-old grandson asked me to play catch with him. My knee gave out twice! How many times have I passed up the chance to throw a ball with him because I was busy putting on a dinner or preoccupied with something else? Now, I grab the moment, even if I also have to grab my knee. I want him to remember the day I played catch with him.

Aging with our friends is sobering. When we attended our 40^th high school reunion, there was a candlelit memorial table, commemorating “Those who have gone before us.” So young, too soon. Ten years later, at our 50th reunion, we enjoyed seeing old(er) friends, dancing together, sharing memories, laughing about our teenage antics. In the corner of the room was that same candlelit memorial table. The list of our dearly departed classmates had doubled. We cannot avoid this reality. “There is a time to weep”, Ecclesiastes tells us, but also “a time to laugh, a time to mourn, and a time to dance”. Those who have gone before us would not wish us to stop living and loving life. We are given a gift of these extra minutes, so let’s honor and enjoy them?

Each time I am with family and friends, it doesn’t fall short on me that this could be one of, if not the last time we are together. It might be my only opportunity for a hug, or to tell someone how much they mean to me. So, the time I spend with people these days is more intentional. I want to be present, listening to their words, their worries, their plans, loving them, serving them, holding onto every moment. It becomes easier for me to put down all distractions, turn off my cell phone or leave it in another room, and be fully engaged in the conversation, and especially listening. I treasure these minutes more than I ever have before.

I’m sure my family becomes weary of my desire to have them pose for yet another picture, or that I invite them to come visit, or join us for dinner too often. I know they are fully immersed in that very busy time of their life. Their impacted calendar doesn’t have much room for older people. That’s truly understandable. We were once young and crazy-busy, too. I recall my parents expanding their circle of friends during those years. They traveled more, began hobbies, and pursued their own interests. We could not be their “friends” as our lives were filled with growing our own marriage, raising kids, negotiating our education, working long hours, and fixing up our house. I’m sure they longed to know how and what we were doing, but they never required more from us than we were able to give. We don’t expect anything different in our relationship with our kids. We were them once! We do understand. Growing old can’t possibly be understood by our kids, yet. Heck, all this is a new journey for us, too! So many new feelings and needs, some of them rather uncomfortable.

I am profoundly aware that I have passed the halfway point in my life. As young people, we think that the older people in our lives will be there for us, forever. Perhaps that’s why death is so shocking to them. “But I thought we had more time.”

We have two choices in how we spend our time: alone or with others. For this extrovert, I choose the latter. I long to be surrounded by familiar people. I wish for them to get to know us more as individuals, not just as “their parents”. They may discover we have changed, relaxed a little, and have developed dreams of our own. But listening to them is the best. Hearing them talk about their childhood memories, the experiences they recall that we may never have known about. We need to know that they are okay, at work, at home, and in their personal life. The noise of their laughter and conversations drowns out the ticking of the clock, making our time meaningful.

Our minutes matter.