“The great thing about life — the most magnificent thing about being these sentient human beings — is that we have been given the power of choice.” ~ Bryant McGill
One of the few benefits of being shoved up against the reality of mortality — our own or someone close to us — is that it forces us to conduct a life review. Sometimes we do that flippantly, or try to worm our way out of it with distractions and avoidance. It’s almost as if we think that if we keep moving fast enough, we can outrun the uncomfortable questions.
• What does my life look like right now?
• What do I want my life to look like in a year, five years, or 10 years?
• Sometimes it’s easier to approach from the negative: What do I not want my life to look like down the road?
• If nothing changes, what will my life look like a few years from now? Is that what I want?
• What changes do I need to make today to alter that trajectory?
I spent a lot of my childhood in the backseat of a small airplane. For a while, I had the instructions for activating the emergency beacon memorized. (And I wonder why I don’t particularly enjoy flying now.)
We often flew to Grand Junction for what I remember as the best chicken salad sandwiches ever, then turned around and flew back to Glenwood. Somewhere along the way, my dad explained that we had to stick to the flight plan if we wanted to reach our destination. Small corrections were part of the process, but failing to pay attention could take us off course.
Yes, I know that’s a child’s understanding of aviation, and I’m sure my pilot friends will have plenty of corrections. Roll with me for a minute.
What if we applied the same idea to our lives?
Most of us have destinations we want to reach. We have dreams, goals, places we hope to end up. But many of us spend surprisingly little time thinking about the route required to get there.
I know I did.
I had destinations in mind, but my flight plan was murky. As a result, I took some unexpected routes. I meandered around, often in circles, hoping and praying I’d eventually arrive where I wanted to be before I ran out of fuel.
The truth is that every day we are either moving toward the life we want or drifting away from it. Rarely do we remain exactly where we are.
I’ll turn 56 next month. The math is impossible to ignore: I have less runway ahead of me than I have behind me. There are still places I want to go, experiences I want to have, and goals I haven’t reached.
Birthdays are a convenient marker for taking inventory. They remind us to check our heading, review the flight plan, and make whatever course corrections are necessary.
Because eventually, whether we’re ready or not, we run out of runway.
