Most of us have to work for a living. If we are lucky, we
find work that is meaningful, that makes the world better in some way. But for
most of us, even the best job takes time away from things we care about.
I have been very lucky these past few years, because now my
work is my writing, and I can do it in my own house with my wife nearby and my
dogs at my feet. I choose what and when to write. Because I have the freedom to
make choices about my priorities.
It is a luxury I appreciate every single day. I do not look
back on my years of work as wasted. I do sometimes look back with regret, but I
also know that each step I took was a step toward who I am. Besides, anyone
with no regrets hasn’t been trying hard enough.
There’s an idea I try to think about every day:
One life on this earth is all we get, whether it is enough or
not enough. And the obvious conclusion would seem to be that, at the very
least, we are fools if we do not live it as fully, and bravely, and beautifully
as we can.
No one has a perfect life. No one has a life without grief or
loss. But I think happiness is about gathering in the small beauties all around
us. Right. Now.
Today will not come again.
