At some point, I crossed an imaginary line. Time, in my lifetime, became finite. Suddenly, I didn’t want to talk to uninteresting people, read uninteresting books, or take boring vacations.
It was as if I had x amount of time left, and y number of things to do in that time. I didn’t want eat crummy food, drink bad coffee, or write uninteresting blogs—though I probably will.
I became obsessed with maximizing my remaining time. Even while doing something “worthy,” I was anxious about not getting to the next worthy thing. In short, I wasn’t enjoying life.
Then I remembered a lesson I learned while traveling. If you visit an interesting place, like London for example, there are so many must dos and must sees—the Crown Jewels, Buckingham Palace, St. Paul’s Cathedral, ad infinitum. No one has enough time in one trip.
So, I told myself, “Do what you can do comfortably (comfortably being the key word) and do the rest the next time.” If I never returned to London, it still made the current visit more enjoyable.
I think it’s the same with life. I’ll do what can do comfortably, and then do the rest in my next life. If there is no next life, I’ll never know. And if there is… well, perfect.
It allows me to enjoy the moment. This moment. And that’s all any of us really have.