I Was Living It
- Jun 8
- 3 min read
This past week wasn't remarkable by any objective measure. I played golf with my son one evening. A few days later, we played again with a client and friend. Then I spent a morning on Lake Travis catching fish on the same lake I've looked at from my back porch for years. There were no milestones or major accomplishments. Just a handful of ordinary moments spread across an ordinary week.
And yet, I've found myself thinking about them more than almost anything else. I think it's because a couple months ago those moments felt very far away.
When you're walking through a difficult season, your world gets smaller. Your focus narrows to whatever is directly in front of you. One appointment. One treatment. One conversation with a doctor. One night's sleep. One more day. You become so consumed with getting through what you're going through that you don't realize how much of life has quietly been placed on hold.
Looking back, I didn't miss the big things nearly as much as I missed the ordinary ones. Having enough energy to enjoy an evening. Waking up without immediately thinking about how I felt physically. Making plans without wondering whether I'd have the strength to follow through. Those things sit quietly in the background of our lives, and it isn't until they're gone that we realize how valuable they were all along.
That's why this week felt different.
Standing on a golf course with my son, I found myself paying attention to things I might have rushed past before. The conversation between shots. The laughter after a bad swing. The simple fact that we were spending an evening together with nowhere else we needed to be. Nothing extraordinary was happening, yet it felt incredibly meaningful.
The same thing happened on the lake. I caught a few fish, including one that was barely bigger than the worm it bit. Zac and I laughed because it looked almost impossible. The fish wasn't impressive. Neither of us cared. Sitting there on Lake Travis, I realized I wasn't thinking about treatments, appointments, recovery, or any of the things that had occupied so much space in my mind for months. I was simply enjoying a morning on the water with my son. Catching tiny fish. Laughing. Watching the lake wake up around us.
Somewhere along the way I realized I wasn't waiting for life to return. I was living it.
The older I get, the more convinced I become that a meaningful life isn't built around the big moments. It's built around thousands of small ones. A dinner around the table. A walk with your spouse. A conversation with a friend. A round of golf. A morning on the water.
This week reminded me that gratitude lives in those moments. The ones we assume will always be there. The ones we hardly notice while they're happening.
The ones we'd miss the most if they disappeared tomorrow.
Have You Written Yours Yet?
In 2011, I wrote a letter to myself ten years in the future. It changed the trajectory of my life.
That experience became The 10-Year Letter.
If you're ready to create a future you're excited to live, I'd love for you to grab a copy.
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