I had a meeting yesterday with a friend and colleague whose mom recently died at the relatively young age of 64. As we were talking he also shared that his dad had suffered a debilitating stroke just six weeks after he retired. Coincidentally, on my way into the meeting my mom forwarded me a poem from a teenage girl with terminal cancer. Unrelated to any of the above, a few weeks ago my dad had to be airlifted to the hospital to address a fast-developing case of internal bleeding (he’s OK now).
Maybe it’s because I turn 40 this year, or because my kids are growing up so fast, but I’ve been reflecting more than usual on how little time we have to pursue our dreams and spend time with the people we love. As a result of many long conversations on the subject over many years, a close childhood friend and I share a shorthand phrase for this: “Watch out for the bus”. In longhand, the rough translation is this: death is certain, the timing of death is uncertain, so try hard to live your life in such a way that, whenever the bus hits you, you can be at peace with the choices you’ve made.
I sometimes lose track of this idea in the daily press of work, family and current events, but it’s never far out of mind. The convergence of events described above was a welcome reminder.