When your world shatters, you’re forced to reexamine your life.
A client asked me today, “Why are you so obsessed with time?” My response is always the same, “Because, time is precious”.
Even before death rocked my innocent existence at the young age of 18, I was keenly aware of the priceless value of time.
My father often used the metaphor of a one-night stand to describe life’s brevity.
Blink and you’re rocking mom jeans and a mini-van.
Blink again and your baby’s getting married.
Blink two times and that pitter-patter you hear coming down the hall is from the one that calls you grandma.
For a couple decades now, it’s been my personal mission to keep the preciousness of time at the forefront of our crazy busy lives.
It literally pains me to see a mother ignore her child, while she updates her Facebook status.
Society’s attempt to redefine intimacy has skewed our perception of connection so much that we’d rather socially share our day, than connect with our loved ones in the flesh.
My heart aches when couples come into my office week-after-week with the same complaints that in the grand scheme of things don’t matter.
Why do we get so caught up in the daily grind, the little spousal spats, and the race to keep up with the Jones’?
Because that’s what our world revolves around. Our culture rewards busyness, superficial status symbols, and materialistic trophies.
AND, quite frankly, we all suffer from the “Nothing bad will EVER happen to me” syndrome.
Until it does. That’s when we:
- Recognize the preciousness of time.
- Put down our phones and grab our children.
- Let go of the little annoyances and hold our partners.
When tragedy strikes, we’re jolted from our monotonous existence and wake up to the true sense of living.
Misfortunes Can Be Magical
My father could not stop working.
My mom tried everything to convince him to slow down—she even grew the most impressive brain aneurysm neurologists had EVER seen, to no avail.
And then something magical happened…
My dad was given an expiration date.
The doctor told him that he had 2 months, if he was lucky.
The 3 Miraculous Treasures that are Born Out of Tragedy:
Treasure #1: Tragedy motivates us to change.
My parents took off and spent their last moments together playing like a couple of teens in love. It was remarkable.
Treasure #2: Tragedy forces us to slow down and simplify.
We rein in the spending, give a “who gives a shit” wave to the social drama, and wrap ourselves around our loved ones and savor.
Treasure #3: Tragedy cuts through the white noise and puts life in perspective.
Not only do you choose your daughter over your status update, but you take her in your arms like it’s the last time you’ll ever see her.
Catastrophes are meant to stop us in our tracks so that we reassess our lives.
Did you skip the family waterpark trip because you were concerned that your baby belly was a little too pudgy?
Do you miss out on sparkle moments with your kids because you’re so worried about other things—circumstances that you can’t control anyway?
Do you take for granted the people that you love the most for things that don’t really matter?
I’m just a girl from a rural community in Minnesota, but I have experienced great heartache and pain. And I’m here to tell you to stop being careless and start being careful with your time.
My dad was right. Life is like a one-night stand, blink and it’s over.
Time is our most valuable commodity and tragedy reminds us that in the game of life, there are no true redoes.
You Get One Shot
Today is gone, and tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. All you have is right now.
The next time tragedy strikes, harness the natural energy and motivate yourself to make necessary changes.
Switch up your lifestyle so that you can have more time for those that you love.
Make moments matter, because in the end, that’s all we have.
Jessica is the author of Back 2 Love and How to Start a Mental Health Private Practice. She blogs regularly on her website: jmillercoaching.com. Follow her on Twitter to receive Top Relationship Tips.
This article was originally published at JMiller Coaching. Reprinted with permission from the author.