“It’s really clear that
the most precious resource
we all have is time.” 
Steve Jobs

When I was in my twenties, I was confident that I had a long life ahead of me. I was healthy, active, and optimistic. I played a lot of basketball and tennis, rode my ten-speed bike for both transportation and pleasure, and took advantage of opportunities to travel. Of course, the reality of the situation was that I was never guaranteed the next day. No one is. Despite this fact, I felt invincible and immortal.

When I was in my thirties and forties, I was too busy to think about time or mortality. I got married, we had children, and our lives were filled with the predictable challenges of balancing our work commitments with our family responsibilities. Time passed quickly, but we were having too much fun to notice.

During my fifties, our three sons were transitioning into confident young men. High school graduations, college classes, jobs, and participation in intercollegiate sports took up much of their time — and mine. It was an exciting time for all of us.

Turning 60 didn’t bother me at all. I was still teaching, our sons had achieved appropriate levels of autonomy, and Kathy and I enjoyed a little more time to ourselves. As my sixties progressed, wonderful changes brought incredible joy and new challenges. Marriages and the births of five grandchildren have literally transformed our lives. All three of our boys (I guess I’ll always call them that) have settled into respectable, productive careers which provide for them and their families while also making a positive difference in the world. To say that I am proud of them would be an understatement.

A little more than a month ago, I turned 70. Unlike any previous birthday, this one got me thinking about my mortality. I’m still healthy and relatively active, though not to the extent to which I was in my younger years. I don’t feel old, but there is no denying that I am older than I’ve ever been. My knees remind me of this fact on a daily basis. I am well aware that most of the sand in my hourglass of life has made its way to the bottom. The only question is how much sand (time) remains in the upper chamber? There’s just no way for me to know.

Acknowledging the limitations of time in my life has allowed me to reorganize my priorities. Earning money is no longer a major consideration. I no longer have a need to be right. If someone disagrees with me, I’m finding that life is more pleasant when I simply recognize the disagreements and not let them interfere with my relationships. While it may be easy for me to think that now that I’m retired, I am no longer a contributing member of society, I wholeheartedly reject this notion. I am committed to making a positive difference in the world every day. The things I do don’t have to be earth-shattering. I do simple things, like acknowledging people I encounter each day. If I see a piece of trash on the ground, I’ll pick it up and dispose of it appropriately. I intentionally focus on the good in the world, since I am convinced that there is far more good than evil in our community. And I make myself available to others for support, friendship, and, at times, simple compassionate presence.

At the age of 70, I am well aware that when I share my time with someone, I am giving them a portion of the limited time I have remaining on this earth. I cannot think of anything more valuable to share with them. Time truly is a gift.