Truth, Health, and Wealth: Coffee with a Retiring Friend

             I shared coffee with a friend this week.  The morning sun shone on us as we caught up under a shady umbrella.  

                My friend is 80 years old, a month away from retirement,  about to finish a successful and lifelong career as a financial planner.  He’s at a reflective stage in his life. 

 

         “I just can’t believe it, Andy.  I’m 80 years old.  Where did the time go?  It’s gone so fast.  I was just your age, and I blinked, and now, I’m on my way to Heaven soon.” 

 

         He wanted a bit more coffee,  so he pushed himself up out of his chair, and ambled gingerly over to the coffee pot.  “Even standing up these days is challenging!”

 

         As I navigate my own transitions in life, I relish the chance to connect with my elders, those who have walked more miles for longer than I have.

         “What’s it all for?  I work with a guy who makes $500,000 a year.  He’s on his own, he’s always in the office. He’s feels he wants to impart his wisdom and skills to everyone else there.  That’s his journey, but why?  What’s he going to do with all that money?”

My Why

         Striving, working, achieving, pushing for more income, power, and prestige.  To what end?  Where is the finish line? 

         My friend stares off into the distance.  “I don’t want to be the richest guy in the cemetery.”

         My friend lived a life and built a career he was proud of.  He found love (a couple times!) and sustained it, raised his children, and savored his grandchildren.  He did good deeds, mentored others, and dedicated his time, money, and talents to his community.   He served his clients faithfully, and many became friends for life.

         His bank account his full.  But the hourglass of time keeps running, and he knows it.  He can feel it in his bones, his muscles.  He was once a runner, an athlete, a tennis player (“Pickleball is ridiculous!" he muses).  Those days are gone.  His mind is as sharp as ever, and his heart is big, generous, kind.  But his flesh is weathered, his muscles sag, his bones are brittle.

         Time marches on.  He holds his Irish Catholic faith tightly.  He has lived his life in the spirit of Christian values, and his sights are set on Heaven.

         Our time together comes to an end.  He has a lot to do to close down his business, forever.  

                And I, half his age, have much to do to build my own vision, with crystal clear eyes on the ever essential question: Why?