These Times

When you're a kid, you wish you were a bigger kid.

When you're a teenager, you wish you were an adult.

When you're in your twenties, you wish you had more money.

When you're in your thirties, you wish you had more time to sleep.

When you're in your forties, your body tells you you're not in your twenties anymore.

When you're in your fifties, you wish your kids hung out a little bit longer.

We're always somewhere else.

Always leaning forward into the next thing or looking back at the last one. The kid wants the bike with gears. The teenager wants the car keys. The twenty-something wants a fatter paycheck. The thirty-something would trade a kidney for a nap.

I've done it my whole life. I'm doing it right now if I'm honest. There's a version of me a little further along. A little wiser. A little richer. A little less tired. He's always out there, just past the next quarter or the next birthday or the next deal.

Here's the thing nobody puts on a poster.

This time, the one you're in, is probably the best one you'll get.

Not because it's perfect. It isn't. The body hurts in places it didn't used to. The kids are loud or the kids are gone. The work is too much or not enough. Money is a worry, or money is just a different kind of worry. None of that goes away in the next chapter. It just changes outfits.

What you have right now is something the future version of you would pay anything to get back. Your knees. Your parents' phone calls. The dog following you from room to room. The kid who still wants to sit in your lap. The friend who's still around to text.

You don't see it because it's the wallpaper. It's the air. It's the boring Tuesday.

Then one day it isn't.

I think about this a lot lately. I'm in my forties. My body tells me. I have a young kid who will not always want to climb on me. I have a dog who will not always be at my feet. I have parents I should call more.

And I am still, even now, leaning forward. Wishing I was past this thing or onto that thing. It's a hard habit to break.

So I try to do one small thing. I try to notice. Not in a big spiritual way. Just for ten seconds. Selma on the walk to school. Walter's chin. Dinner with Carlyn. Wildflowers in the North Hills.

Ten seconds of this is the time.

That's the whole post.

You're in it right now. The best one you'll get.

Don't miss it because you were busy waiting for the next one.