Quote of the Day: Running Out of Time

The pinging outside shifted to short scale. Now fear stabbed Byron’s very bowels. This time the submarine was caught; caught dead on the bottom and almost out of power, and he was caught in it, and all this was no dream, dreamlike though the horror seemed, Death under the sea was now coming at him, screaming through the short-scale pings in malevolent rising glee, “Found you! Found you! Found you!” The faces in the control room took on one expression—stark terror. Chief Derringer was not looking at the plot, but staring vacantly upward, his heavy mouth wide open, his fat face a Greek mask of fright; the man had five children and two grandchildren. The propellers came drumming and thrashing directly overhead once again—KER-DA-TRAMM! TRAMM! TRAMM! Morelli at the bow planes clutched his crucifix, crossed himself, and muttered a prayer. Click, click, click, like little pebbles or balls bouncing on the hull, it was the arming of the depth charges at their preset depth, though Byron did not know that this caused the noise. He too was praying; nothing complicated, just, “God, let me live. God, let me live.

Byron Henry is a character in Herman Wouk’s great book, War and Remembrance. I’m still in the early part of the book (well, it is over 1,000 pages, after all), but I’m completely engrossed in the story. As you could see, Henry and his mates were terrified that they were going to die in their submarine at the hands of a Japanese destroyer. Miraculously, they survived. They laughed (or maybe cried is a better word) in the face of death.

Fortunately, I’ve never come close to experiencing that kind of terror. But lately, I’ve noticed that issues of mortality keep showing up on my radar screen. My glimpses of mortality have been limited, if one wants to count my bout with breast cancer. Many more of you have battled more serious challenges and lived to tell the tale.

But the question of mortality especially showed up when I was reading an article that said for people like me, we have more years behind us than we have ahead of us. I’ve read that kind of remark before, but suddenly I realized that I had very few years ahead of me. At 74, maybe I only have 15 years to make the most of my life. In fact, I could die tomorrow (and of course I could also live to 95). The issue is not that I fear death; instead, I thought to myself, I’m running out of time—but for what?

What does that even mean? Are there items left on my bucket list? Well, to be honest, I never had a bucket list. By the time I heard of bucket lists, my husband and I had travelled extensively. I didn’t want to sing with an opera company or climb Mt. Everest; hiking in the Himalayas was enough for me. But I’m trying to make the point that I didn’t have regrets or unfulfilled dreams that needed to be satisfied for me to feel happy.

So, why did I feel I was running out of time? Were there goals that I need to create to feel truly fulfilled? Was this the year when I needed to make some new resolutions that I knew I wouldn’t keep?

It finally hit me. I need to continue as I always have, learning and growing all the way, but I want to do many of those activities with deep intention. Somehow, just the word intention didn’t seem powerful enough.

I realized that many of the things I do, I do mindlessly. Whether I’m exercising, pruning my African violets or orchid plants, I’m sometimes thinking of what other tasks lie ahead of me, or think about the great meal I had yesterday.

So why live with “deep intention”? What difference does it make?

It matters because I truly feel I have limited time on this earth. Realistically, I don’t know how much time I have left, and I don’t want to waste it. I want to fully experience my life, as much as it is humanly possible. I don’t want to make activities feel like a job, but whenever possible, be fully engaged, see my actions in a new way.

I have a similar practice that I started a few years ago where I give thanks to G-d, even for little things that happen: no traffic on the road; my favorite food on the store shelves; a thank-you from a friend. And after many of these interactions, I thank G-d—for my having a life fulfilled, with loving people around me, and unexpected good fortune.

So, I hope that living with deep intention will enrich and bless my life, as another way to give thanks for the life I’ve been given.

A special and meaningful way to begin 2024.