That Which Doesn't Break

By the time a man or woman reaches the age of fifty or sixty we have been cut, scraped, bruised, operated on, shocked, loved, left and loved again so many times that it is a wonder of wonders that we're even here at all.

The body is so fragile and tenuous and yet those same cuts, operations, bruises and even beatings somehow forge a soul that can not only survive but thrive if they are counter-balanced by enough love, friendship, tenderness, time and support.

The cracking open of my chest and the quadruple by-pass is one of the most invasive things I've ever endured and yet now 15 weeks later I, like many of those who have experienced this operation, feel more blessed, more energized, and more connected to people,pets, things than ever before. But I got to also admit I hope I don't ever have to go through another.

Question: What nearly broke you but ultimately became a big part of your healing?

Time

Remember when you had so much time on your hands you could "kill" it and not feel a bit guilty about the crime? Remember when you had "all the time in the world"? Do you recall when "time was on your side?" Time was so much in abundance that you could waste time, spend time, lose time,and even make time, time and time again.

Since my heart attack, when time almost caught up with me and killed me I feel more relaxed about time in some ways than I ever have before. And in other ways (none of them morbid) I feel that time is "running" out.

I told a friend the other day that if the next 10 years go by as fast as the last 20 then they will only feel like 5. Today I feel that I want to make the most of the time I have left no matter how long or short that is and the way to this is by only doing what I really love and being with those I love more of the time than not.

Question: Is time a'wastin'?

Wrestling Mortality

Mr. Mortality challenged me to a fight 12 weeks ago last night. He almost won. A strong wife, a good heart surgeon, and lots and lots of prayers beat the fellow back into his corner but he left, I hope, a lasting impression regarding wasting time.

Six months ago I felt like I had lots and lots of time as T.S. Elliot says in the poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, "...time for decisions and a hundred revisions..." or something to that effect. I thought if we lived in our small cottage in Mentone for four or five more years we would still have plenty of time to live elsewhere--you know where there are lots of book stores and great restaurants.

Years ago I used to have some of my clients and workshop participants do this exercise where I would say, "Imagine you only have 10 years to live. Where would you go? What would you do? Who would you take with you? What are you waiting on?

Mr. Mortality is not whispering this question in my ears. He is practically yelling it?

Questions: Where would you go? What would you do? Who would you take with you? What are you waiting on?