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It's right at 5:30 p.m. and I'm sitting outside the Frothy Monkey, a coffee house on 12th Avenue South, a mile or so from our house. Traffic on 12th Avenue is heavy, as people head home after work. I've seen several people walking, running or biking down the sidewalk, taking advantage of a beautiful fall evening. There's a light breeze, the sky is an azure blue and the temperature is just right - about 65 degrees. Nice.
I actually strolled John Patrick to the Frothy Monkey last Thursday morning, as well. I had taken the day off work to watch him, because Carley, one of our nannies, was out of town. Anyway, as we were walking through the neighborhood, enjoying the morning, I was thinking how lucky I am to have a job that affords me the opportunity to take time off when I want to, to spend with John Patrick.
I've always realized, at least conceptually, that working for myself in our small, Franklin law firm, improves my quality of life tremendously. However, since John Patrick was born a little over six months ago, I've really grown to appreciate the flexibility I enjoy with my work schedule.
Anyway, that morning, I continued thinking about how precious time is, to everyone, really. Sometimes we don't realize it, but it's our most valuable resource, our most treasured asset. There's never enough of it. We can't buy it. We try like hell to save it, but we can't, no matter how hard we try. Once we've lost it, it's gone forever. The best we can do is to "manage" it, whatever that means.
As I walked and thought, I had a bit of an epiphany. Time is more valuable, even, than money. Sure, money or earning a lot of money provides us the opportunity to purchase a nicer house, a more expensive car or take a more extravagant vacation. In most cases, though, to earn more money we have to work harder, work longer hours or work in a more stressful job. The end result, of course, is that we lose time . . . time with our family and friends. Again, we can make more money, but we can't get back the time we lose along the way.
Today, October 1, 2008, my son, who is sleeping beside me in his stroller on this wonderful Nashville evening, is six months and three days old. This is the 188th day of his life. When he goes to sleep tonight and then, later, when I go to sleep tonight, this day will be gone. Forever. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I wish or how much money I make, I will never get this day back . . . the 188th day of my son's life. I'll hold on to this day for a little while longer, at least, as we walk back home. After it's gone, I'll have the memory of this day in my heart. Forever. And that's something money can't buy.
I actually strolled John Patrick to the Frothy Monkey last Thursday morning, as well. I had taken the day off work to watch him, because Carley, one of our nannies, was out of town. Anyway, as we were walking through the neighborhood, enjoying the morning, I was thinking how lucky I am to have a job that affords me the opportunity to take time off when I want to, to spend with John Patrick.
I've always realized, at least conceptually, that working for myself in our small, Franklin law firm, improves my quality of life tremendously. However, since John Patrick was born a little over six months ago, I've really grown to appreciate the flexibility I enjoy with my work schedule.
Anyway, that morning, I continued thinking about how precious time is, to everyone, really. Sometimes we don't realize it, but it's our most valuable resource, our most treasured asset. There's never enough of it. We can't buy it. We try like hell to save it, but we can't, no matter how hard we try. Once we've lost it, it's gone forever. The best we can do is to "manage" it, whatever that means.
As I walked and thought, I had a bit of an epiphany. Time is more valuable, even, than money. Sure, money or earning a lot of money provides us the opportunity to purchase a nicer house, a more expensive car or take a more extravagant vacation. In most cases, though, to earn more money we have to work harder, work longer hours or work in a more stressful job. The end result, of course, is that we lose time . . . time with our family and friends. Again, we can make more money, but we can't get back the time we lose along the way.
Today, October 1, 2008, my son, who is sleeping beside me in his stroller on this wonderful Nashville evening, is six months and three days old. This is the 188th day of his life. When he goes to sleep tonight and then, later, when I go to sleep tonight, this day will be gone. Forever. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I wish or how much money I make, I will never get this day back . . . the 188th day of my son's life. I'll hold on to this day for a little while longer, at least, as we walk back home. After it's gone, I'll have the memory of this day in my heart. Forever. And that's something money can't buy.
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