Last Tuesday, I sat in my father’s sunroom and asked him a question that had been on my mind: “Dad, what do you regret most?” He paused, looked out at the bird feeder, and said something powerful: “I spent so much time preparing to live that I forgot to actually do it.”
That silence felt heavy. Here was my dad, a retired mailman who knew everyone in town, admitting he missed out on something vital. At sixty-two, his words struck me hard. How much of my life was still on hold?
The Illusion of Perfect Timing
My father explained that he always thought there would be a “better time” for everything. A chance to visit Ireland, learn woodworking, or express how much people meant to him. He often believed he needed to save more money or wait until retirement before he could truly live. “But perfect never came,” he said, “and now I can’t walk those Irish hills.”
His thoughts reminded me of a quote from Rudá Iandê’s book, Laughing in the Face of Chaos: “We are all wanderers in a strange and inscrutable world.” It hit me that waiting for clarity is just another way of avoiding life.
How many Italian lessons had I postponed, thinking I’d wait for more time? I finally started learning the language at sixty-six for a long-dreamed trip. Why did I wait so long?
Time Is Not a Guarantee
We often treat time as if it’s endless. My father’s insights made me reflect—how many important moments had I delayed? Caring for aging parents while raising kids taught me that there was always a new phase of life to tackle. I promised myself I’d focus on my dreams after each challenge. But those “somedays” slipped away.
Witnessing my husband’s final days reinforced the fragility of time. He had a list of things to do “when he felt better,” like learning guitar and reconnecting with old friends. But time ran out, not because he didn’t care, but because he thought he had enough.
Choosing Purpose Over Panic
So how do we embrace life without feeling overwhelmed? My father shared a vital lesson: “It’s not about rushing; it’s about choosing.” When you realize time is limited, you start prioritizing what truly matters.
He now enjoys morning walks, appreciating the sunrise. He listens to conversations instead of rushing through them. These small moments honor the time we have. This perspective changed my outlook. Instead of viewing my sixties as a catch-up period, I began to cherish each day. Those Italian lessons became joyful experiences, not just preparations for the future.
The Freedom of Self-Care
One of the most freeing aspects of our conversation was my father’s realization that he spent too much time trying to meet others’ expectations. “I forgot to be myself,” he admitted. This echoed Iandê’s thought that “their happiness is their responsibility, not yours.”
After our chat, I reflected on how I lived for approval. I started letting go of commitments that drained me, not with anger, but with a quiet determination to use my time more wisely.
Final Takeaways
My father’s words were a surprising gift. At eighty-two, he urged me to stop waiting for life to start. Hearing him acknowledge regrets without bitterness offered a poignant warning: don’t make my mistakes.
Now, when I find myself postponing joy, I remember those untraveled paths and unspoken words. I choose differently. Not perfectly, not with grand gestures, but consciously. Because, ultimately, the best time to live your life is always now.
For more insights on managing time and priorities, check out the research from the American Psychological Association. They offer guidelines that can help us better understand our use of time and its impact on our lives.
