Move it, he said, there isn’t much time.
So you stepped on the gas or walked a bit faster or hurried your phone conversation, and still arrived late for your next activity.
Faster, he said, only losers slow down.
So you worked late at the office or left the party early or rushed out of the house without kissing the kids goodbye, and still never made up for the time you lost.
Hurry up, he said, you’ll miss your big opportunity.
So you took a second job working weekends or cheated in business or cancelled the family vacation, and still never found the opportunity you were looking for.
Skip the formalities, he said, you’ll have time for that later.
So you forgot your anniversary or never showed up for parents night at school or stepped over a friend to better your position, and still found yourself dreaming about all the things you didn’t have.
Don’t slow down, he said, time grows shorter every minute.
So you pretended to stay young or cheated on your marriage or forgot to watch your children growing up, and still never found someone who could understand you.
Pick up your speed, he said, time’s almost up.
So you grew bitter and resentful or left your family or started a list with everything the world owed you, and still grew older every day.
Final seconds, he said, last chance to make good.
So you looked around and wondered where all the time had gone or searched out those you had wronged or started making friends with priests, and still couldn’t get his voice out of your head.
Move it, he said, you’re running out of time.
And finally he was right.
You ran out of time.
Forgive me if this brief story has appeared before, but a friend of mine recently received bad medical news and this piece immediately came to mind. I run it as a reminder and gift to everyone, but especially for myself.
This story appears in “How To Train A Rock” by Paul Steven Stone
Copyright © 2009 Paul Steven Stone