The following quote by Clint Eastwood got me thinking about stuff that I’ve been thinking about more lately than before.
My father died very suddenly at sixty-three. Just dropped dead. For a long time afterward, I’d ask myself, Why didn’t I ask him to play golf more? Why didn’t I spend more time with him? But when you’re off trying to get the brass ring, you forget and overlook those little things. It gives you a certain amount of regret later on, but there’s nothing you can do about it. So you just forge on. (link)
I feel like this a lot lately. Not just with my father, but with my mother, sister, and friends. Even the dogs. Life passes so quickly that I often find it difficult to keep up. I wish there were 48 hours in each day so that I could call home more often, play an extra round of golf, or just shoot the shit with the people that mean the most to me.
We traveled a lot when I was a kid. We went to Disney World, out West on a train, skiing at Vail, and many other places. I see now, more than ever, how difficult it is (and how much more difficult it is becoming despite cell phones, skype, IM, etc.) to keep in touch – to get people together – to squeeze in a round of golf between school, work, travel, and whatever else occupies my time.
Grand plans are nice, but not required. Activities that were once trivial now create some of my most cherished memories. It is the short sunny hikes, silent hours on the couch, grabbing a quick beer, or riding into town that give me a chance to catch up. I rarely have much to say, but it’s nice just to be there. To be with family. To be around friends. It is in doing things with these people that I prove my lonely stubbornness wrong and find meaning in my life.
I do forge on, Clint. But I also wake up each morning wondering if I’m making enough of an effort. If I’m talking enough. If I’m doing enough. If I’m headed in the right direction. If… if… if… And these “ifs” will forever remain. There will seldom be definite answers. But I think that is okay because in the end I’ll have definite memories, too. I’ll forge on with my definite memories held closer than most other things I cherish. Those memories will comfort me that I did enough, and that although I could have done more, I am so fortunate to have the memories I do have.