How is it humanly possible, I wondered, to work for most of the daylight (plus some of the nightlight) hours of (at least) every weekday for multiple decades and feel like one is living anything close to a full life?
Mid-flight, somewhere between California and New York, I woke up from a dream in which I was horrified to realize more than half of my life was likely over. I had lost years of time, without knowing where that time had gone.
Early on Sunday morning, one of my dad’s best friends died. I’ll call him Uncle Q. Uncle Q. and my dad and three other men have been a “gang of five” for 60 years, ever since they first met in college.
I’ve taken up one of my favorite at-home pastimes: looking through the things I’ve saved and considering whether there’s been any change in my attachment levels. Is there anything I am now less attached to?
Metaphors are magical. If we pay more attention to what metaphors we apply to our lives, we can understand more deeply what we’re experiencing and where we’re stuck. As we change our metaphors, we change ourselves.
I had the courage to leave corporate life to pursue, well, life, when I realized that it’s not the answer that matters, but the question—and that we are desperately in need of better questions to ask ourselves and each other.
Website imagery from Pexels, with credit to Rūdolf Klintsons, Cmon Photography, Julia Volk, Magda Ehlers, Maria Jose Fuentes, Pixabay, Ron Lach, Takeshi Arai, Viktor Tala Shuk, Alexas Fotos, and Alex Fu. Headshots by Ashleigh Taylor.