As we motored the sailboat gently into its slip at sunset, there was bedlam on the dock.

A couple dozen people were hanging out there and upon a large sailboat adjacent, eating and drinking—but mostly drinking. “Welcome to Laurie’s birthday!” they shouted.

It took awhile for someone to come over and grab our lines to help us tie off (something we didn’t strictly need but is always nice to have).

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There’s a tension that I experience on a frequent basis. It’s between the necessity of slowing down and allowing space for reflection and growth, and the reality that the clock is ticking.

I don’t do my best work dangling by my fingertips off of a precipice. I need to be peaceful, grounded, and safe.

And yet these are the same conditions that can lead to complacency — to doing nothing and letting the time simply pass by.

It is easy enough to fill a day with meals, laundry, and a walk in the fresh air — maybe a bit of bill-paying, family time, or creative work. And the next, and the next.

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There are two problems that we have with time (okay, there are probably more, but let me just sound like I know what I’m talking about).

The first is the day-to-day struggle of having enough time to fit things into our schedule. The second is the long-term struggle of feeling like it’s too late to start — that life has passed us by.

Both of these problems are illusory. They are based on feelings — that is, emotions and perceptions — rather than reality. And conveniently, they are both solved the same way.

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My father graduated from high school in 1965, a year in which (at least in southern Maine) styles were still decidedly conservative.

A devotee of Elvis and The Beatles, my dad felt stifled by the Eisenhower-era mores that still reigned and longed for the opportunity for greater self-expression.

So much so that he still recalls the indignation and outrage he felt less than two years later when, home from the service for a visit, he drove by his high school and saw kids with long hair, beards, and jeans. The injustice of it all! He felt it keenly on behalf of his sixteen-year-old self.

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This was a sentiment I had heard many times from adult students. Coming from a fifty-year-old with a demanding job and family obligations, it had a veneer of validity. I had often had a similar thought myself, as I compared my career to those of the people I aspired to be like.

However, hearing the same exact words from a small child caused me to question my beliefs. His words confirmed for me that the concern about running out of time and falling behind is driven by fear, not reality.

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