Category: Personal Growth

Scott Adams, who invented the Dilbert comic, mentions this in his book ‘How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big’ the difference between wishing and deciding.

It’s a key difference, because once we decide, we begin to take action. Wishing tends to start in the mind and stay there.

Deciding involves looking at the cost of pursuing that wish – financial cost, opportunity cost of not doing something else, etc. And then internally agreeing to the cost and moving ahead.

I’ve discovered that 10 minutes early Sunday morning, while the house is asleep and all is still quiet, I can pull out a pen and paper and write down my wishes. Just writing them down makes them feel different. It catalyzes a process that puts thoughts into action and leads to a decision to do – or not do – something that otherwise would float around in my mind.

I find I’m more energized (and happier!) because I’m less frustrated. Despite a demanding career and a busy life I’ve dropped the feeling of dread that life is passing me by. I’m able to put my most important wishes into action because I took time to prioritize and decide.

I don’t think everyone struggles with this. I envy those who do it naturally without much effort. They seem to just know what they want and it’s already prioritized and they’re able to just go. I’m very curious how others manage.

This poem from Mary Oliver caught me in a moment I was feeling deep anxiety – over work, over life, over whether I’m doing it right.

Tim Ferriss called attention to this in one of his 5-bullet Friday messages, but I only saw it weeks after that particular email came out.

I recognized Mary Oliver‘s name from another poem The Summer Day, particularly a line I stumbled across in 2015 and have carried around in my memory ever since, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?“

Wild Geese jolted me out of my anxiety and returned my attention to a larger perspective: that our wide world and the even more gigantic universe is flowing always, and I’m but a tiny speck in all those machinations. (Why is it so easy to lose track of that?) More important, Oliver’s words reminded me even though I’m a small speck I do have a place, and I only need to walk outside and look around to feel that flow of energy, and relax into it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the last time you’ll do something.

For instance, the Bolder Boulder Memorial Day 10K Run is something I’ve done for 21 years, and the last 10 of them have been with my son, Cole. Sometimes we run together, sometimes he runs with his mom, but each year after we’re done we have some time together at Folsom Field. Here’s a photo from 2019:

In 2020, the Bolder Boulder didn’t happen due to the pandemic, and instead they offered a Virtual Bolder Boulder. I was into it and had some fun with that.

This year, in 2021, Covid-19 has again impacted the Bolder Boulder but instead of a virtual event, this year’s course has been divvied up to choose from 1 of 6 routes each in a different town, and time slots are spread out over 3 days. I signed up to run one of the courses on Sunday morning and keep up my streak of participating in every Bolder Boulder since I moved to Colorado in 1999.

But I will not be meeting up with Cole at Folsom Field afterward. I’ll run solo this year and he’ll maybe come support, but he’s not planning to run, and there will be no post-run celebration in the stadium. He’s leaving for college this fall, so that photo above was likely the last time we’ll be at Folsom Field together, after having done so for 10 years. There was no way to know, in 2019, that was it.

On one hand it feels sad, like something lost. And it is emotional, to be sure. During my training run this morning, I felt pangs of loss deep in my chest as these thoughts came and went.

On the other hand, tonight Cole and Quinn and I cleaned up after dinner and instead of retreating to their computer games or digital drawings they both wanted to watch a movie. We made popcorn and lounged on the couch as we have dozens and dozens of times over the years.

There was no other place on Earth I would rather have been tonight, than laughing out loud with my kids over a Netflix movie (The Mitchells vs. The Machines, three big thumbs up!) not knowing if this might be the last time we would ever do this together. And savoring every moment of it.

Here’s a map of the world my kids gave me for my birthday. We are using stickies to mark all the places in the world we’d like to visit. Mine are pink, Cole’s are green, and Quinn’s are blue.

Now here’s what my life looks like plotted out by weeks. Each column is a week. It’s easy to see how finite my life is. If I assume a 90-year life span, I’m just over halfway through. There are a lot of “white” weeks ahead of me, but also a lot of “gray” boxes that are behind me. What will I do with the time ahead (especially knowing 90 weeks is just a guess, no one knows their expiration date).

JdLifeWeeks

Such limited resources (financial and time) for all the places I’d like to see! It makes no sense to keep putting things off. Now is the time to act. It’s also the reason to eat healthy and exercise every day — so I can keep mobile and continue to pursue my dreams.

I’m going to link this blog post from Vitaliy Katsenelson. The gist is ‘what would you do if you knew you had 6 months to live’. He shares some great insights – ones I hope to act on even today with my kids.

In the post he cites the story below, which is what I really want to share even if you don’t click over to Mr. Katsenelson’s blog. It’s the first-person story of Randy Pausch, a 46-year-old (same age as me) professor who has only six months to live – he has been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

Here is an excerpt:

Once, about a dozen years ago, when Chris was seven years old and Laura was nine, I picked them up in my brand-new Volkswagen Cabrio convertible. “Be careful in Uncle Randy’s new car,” my sister told them. “Wipe your feet before you get in it. Don’t mess anything up. Don’t get it dirty.” I listened to her, and thought, as only a bachelor uncle can: “That’s just the sort of admonition that sets kids up for failure. Of course they’d eventually get my car dirty. Kids can’t help it.” So I made things easy. While my sister was outlining the rules, I slowly and deliberately opened a can of soda, turned it over, and poured it on the cloth seats in the back of the convertible. My message: People are more important than things. A car, even a pristine gem like my new convertible, was just a thing.

I’ve been thinking recently how easy it is to be selfish and material, especially in America. I’m watching out for my own well-being, helping my kids through school and hopefully to college and off on the right foot in life, planning for my retirement, outlining travel trips I want. I contrast this with friends who are constantly reaching out to me and others, checking in, asking to make plans, willing to set aside their own needs, actively seeking ways to bring comfort to others. They embody the social support that makes us feel connected and loved.

Then there’s the video made by my daughter’s middle-school teachers, each self-isolating at home, and one of them edited a series of 30-second clips of each teacher recording themselves saying hello to their students. So evident how much these people love their kids! They exemplify prioritizing people over things.

So, too, do the brave health care workers who are out on the front lines taking care of sick patients, like my friend Brian who is a hospital physician in Philadelphia. People are more important even than personal safety.

Today’s daily blog post from Seth Godin challenges us to consider what our principles really are. “What makes it a principle is that we do it now, even though (especially though) it’s hard.” If my principles value people over things, what am I going to do today, even if it’s hard even in the midst of the COVID-19 crisis, to live that?

I close my eyes. I think about everything that’s most important to me: family, friends, home, career, music, etc. Then I imagine that it’s all taken away. How does that make me feel? I quickly realize that what I already have is so much more important than what I don’t have. I realize how fortunate, successful, and happy I already am. Then I open my eyes. My life might not be what I consider “perfect”, but it’s already pretty great.