The Preciousness of Time
Sunrise is my favorite time of day.
In midwinter, the sweet spot is somewhere between 7:40 and 8:00 a.m.
Saturday, the sunrise was obscured by clouds and softly falling snow. It was peaceful, literally the calm before the storm. The forecast called for falling temps and wind gusts up to 50 miles per hour.
I savored that quiet walk even more than usual.
For me, time has always been my most precious commodity. 26 years ago, when I signed documents to be a full-time government attorney, I studied the pension information. I knew I wanted to retire as soon as I was eligible to collect a pension. Turns out, by retiring at 55, I give up 50% of what I could receive if I wait 7 more years and retire at 62.
I have never had enough time to live the life I want to live, because the bulk of any given day is spent doing a job for which I earn money to spend on the things that make me happy. While being a lawyer has suited me temperamentally, the toll it has taken on me mentally, emotionally and physically is significant.
Several years ago, I bought myself a little piece of paradise. During the winter, I leave in the dark and return in the dark. My wildlife friends sleep deep in whatever warmth they are able to create for themselves, only appearing after I am gone.
I miss out on the sunrises. I miss out on days that are uncomplicated. I miss out on a feeling that I have an abundance of time.
I am happily giving up 50% of my pension for seven years of time.
Last week I met with my financial planner. He expressed concern, particularly with my upcoming knee surgery. He worries that I will run out of money when I am 85. He is in his sixties and still working because he is saving for assisted living.
Assisted living is not a future I can contemplate. I told him I would throw myself down a flight of stairs before going into assisted living.
A dear friend, who is 66, is currently residing in assisted living. He collapsed at the gym as a result of a cardiac arrest incident. Four months later he is fighting to regain the skills needed to live a normal life. While he has made great progress, the latest report is that when he is alone, he becomes very agitated due to his situation.
My heart breaks for him. It is exactly how I would feel.
Death and disability can appear at any time. Once you cross the mid-century mark, these events seem to happen with greater frequency. The unexpected ones can be devastating.
When I met with several medical professionals to discuss the options for my torn ACL, one did not seem to understand or care about the big and little details that make up what I love about my life. I guess he is not paid to do that. But the other surgeon, who had cleaned out my other knee, wanted to see the agility video that showed how I sustained my injury. She then listened patiently as I explained, tears rolling down my cheeks, that this next chapter, the one I have spent the bulk of my adult life preparing for, is a chapter that demands two working knees. I love the "chores" that come with maintaining a rural piece of property. I love yard work. I love snowshoeing. I love dog training. Right now, I am in self-imposed bubble-wrap and I hate it.
The rehab is going to be long and brutal. A realistic goal is a return to competition agility a year from now. If I stay on track, Watson and I can resume field work in the spring. I just need to be really careful.
Which is why I need to start the process as soon as possible. The future is never guaranteed. All I have is right now.
Each sunrise represents a new day to get it right. This is my opportunity to get it right and get it right now.