(With Apologies to the late Jim Croce…)
When I was sixteen, I made a careless comment to my Aunt from Cleveland while she was staying at our home.
I told her that I wished I was eighteen.
She was quick to set me straight.
“Don’t you wish away one second of your sixteenth year. What I would do to be sixteen again. Once it’s gone, it’s gone and you’ll never get it back!”
She was right of course.
Now, let’s fast forward to the present day…
During my twenty-five year tenure at work, I remember looking on as people retired and walked out the doors one last time to a life unencumbered by forty hour work weeks.
Would that ever be me, I wondered.
Decades later, I can now count on one hand how many years I have left before I can retire, and all I can think about is…
…Where did the time go?
There is a story I once read of a newlywed couple living on a shoestring and trying to get by.
The husband asked his young bride to hold out her hand.
He then filled her open palm with peanuts and as he did he said to her…
“I wish these were diamonds.”
Fifty years later, when all their hard work has paid off and they are old yet comfortable, the husband once again asked his wife to hold out her hand.
He then filled her open palm with diamonds and as he did he said to her…
“I wish these were peanuts.”
It seems like a lifetime ago when I took my Aunt’s advice and stopped wishing away the years.
I don’t wish away the days either.
There are times however, when I’ve caught myself wishing away the hours and minutes…
…but that only happens at work,
…so that doesn’t count!