Stop Saving the Good Stuff for Someday
In the past six months, one dear friend and one close associate have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. Both had important trips planned—and both had to cancel because of the physical effects of the disease.
In the past ten months, two women I know have been diagnosed with breast cancer.
These were people making plans and assuming, as most of us do, that there would be plenty of tomorrows.
Until life interrupted.
At 67, I’ve reached an age when conversations with friends increasingly include, “The doctor wants to run a few more tests.” That is one sentence nobody wants showing up in the middle of an otherwise perfectly good week.
I don’t share this to frighten anyone. A diagnosis is not the end of a meaningful life. People facing serious illnesses still experience joy, purpose, laughter and adventure. But sometimes a diagnosis changes what is physically possible and alters plans we assumed we would get around to “one of these days.”
We are all very good at saving things.
We save the good dishes for company. We save clothes for a special occasion. We save vacation days, ideas and dreams. We keep moving them to the imaginary land of Someday—a magical place where our calendars are empty, our knees are cooperative and airline tickets are apparently free.
Unfortunately, Someday is not an actual date on the calendar.
I’m not suggesting we empty the retirement account, buy matching motorcycles and head west by lunchtime. There are bills to pay and futures to consider. Living intentionally is not the same as being reckless.
But if something matters deeply to you, perhaps it deserves more than a permanent place at the bottom of your list.
Maybe you want to see Africa and hear lions calling in the distance. Maybe you want to take your grandchildren somewhere meaningful, learn to paint, write a book or finally visit the friend who keeps saying, “You really should come see me.”
Maybe you just want to wear the dress, use the china or order dessert without conducting a complete nutritional and financial review.
Do it while you can enjoy it.
We imagine time will politely wait until we are ready. It won’t. Bodies change. Families need us. Circumstances shift. There may never be a perfect time.
That doesn’t mean we should live in fear. Quite the opposite. It means we should live awake.
Call the person.
Plan the reunion.
Take the lesson.
Book the trip.
Sit on the porch and watch the sunset instead of folding the towels immediately. I am certain those towels will still be there when the sun goes down.
Spend your resources wisely, but remember that time is one of those resources—and it may be the most precious one we have.
If there is something you’ve been postponing, take an honest look at what is stopping you. If it truly isn’t financially or practically possible right now, find a smaller version of the dream. Begin somewhere. Put a real date on it.
But if the only thing holding you back is the belief that you’ll have plenty of time later, please reconsider.
Later is a hope, not a guarantee.
Life doesn’t have to be extravagant to be fully lived. It just needs our participation.
And whenever it is reasonably possible, do the thing you’ve always wanted to do—not because something terrible might happen, but because you are here now, and something wonderful still can.
Your Globetrotting Friend,
Joy