"Will you come back and see me?" Daniel asked. 

In my mind, I can still see his face. It's burned in my memory, his brown eyes so dark they were almost black…and with a sort of sadness in them.

"I have 50 years. I'll be here."

 He couldn't have been more than 18 years old. Daniel was an inmate in the prison in Monclova, Coahuila, Mexico, directly across the border from Eagle Pass, Texas. I spent a lot of time visiting Mexican prisons back in the day, and since Daniel's sentence was so long and Mexico at the time did not have a death penalty outside of the military, I assumed (but of course did not ask) that he was incarcerated for murder. (The guy next to him at the time of our conversation I know for certain was in for homicide.) 

This tall, polite kid.

It was hard for me to imagine that he could have messed up so badly that he was destined to spend the rest of his life in those walls. I have thought of him numerous times over the years, as I go through different stages of my life. Since that visit, I've gone to college, gone to law school, practiced law for five different firms, moved sooo many times, bought my house, welcomed new members of my family in a sister-in-law, adopted brother, niece, nephew.

 All that time…years and years and years. 

The prison in Monclova has changed several times since that visit, new ones being built and then abandoned, so I have no way of knowing where Daniel is now. I didn't even know his last name. But if he's still alive, he's somewhere behind bars…still.

Daniel's tragic story of a life wasted and opportunity squandered makes me think of other ways we waste our lives. It's easy to fall into a routine way of thinking that life is always ahead. We make plans of what we'll do in the future after we get through what's in front of us right now. "When I get through with school, then my life will start." "When I graduate with my degree, then life will start." "When I get married….when I have kids….when I get this new job…..when I retire"….and on and on and on. 

I could die before I finish writing this sentence. We're not guaranteed tomorrow. There's a verse in the Bible that talks about our lives being like a vapor….smoke that we can see for a moment that then drifts away, vanishing into nothingness, as if it never existed. I've always found it particularly poignant that we can have so many antiques -- clothes, personal belongings, houses -- that belonged to people who have been dead for centuries. Somehow it seems unfair that their things, which are not important, last so much longer than the people themselves, who were loved and valued and incredibly important to someone in their lifetime but now are like that smoke that floated away. It doesn't seem right that I can hold a piece of jewelry in my hand that was once the prized possession of some woman from years gone by whose name I'll never know.  Her stuff is here; she is not.  This will be the fate of all of us if the world lasts long enough. A few generations from now, if that long, no one will know or care who I was. Life passes so fast. 

I am not advocating that we all quit our jobs and gather into a group commune to paint and sculpt and suck the juices out of life in some hippie dippie, irresponsible, fashion, (though if that's your thing, go for it.) There's nothing wrong with having life goals and buckling down to work toward those. That's the responsible thing to do. Hard work is good. It's when we don't take the time to enjoy life WHILE all this other stuff is happening that it becomes a problem. When we postpone the good stuff because we think we'll have time later. You won't. You'll never get this time back. Your youth and good health are not indefinite.

There is a balance. Some people "enjoy" life so much that they never manage to accomplish anything meaningful with their talents or time, and that is just as much a waste. To have frittered your time away on earth wasting your potential is just as much a sin.  For the first group, however, I realize we all can't drop what we're doing and go on month-long trips to Europe. But we can take time to enjoy life at the measure we're enabled to, even in -- particularly -- the small things. 

Someone said life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. I think life is what happens while you're waiting for it to start.  I read an article recently about palliative nurse Bronnie Ware, who wrote a book about her terminal patients and their biggest regrets, called "The Top Five Regrets of the Dying."  Those top five regrets were as follows:

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2. I wish I didn't work so hard.
3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

A couple of those regrets resonate with me. Being goal-oriented and determined, I've been as guilty as anyone in taking my time for granted. I spent years furthering my education and passing up opportunities to hang out with friends or explore the city I was in, missing chances to experience new places and things because I could do all of that "later."  Sometimes I've missed opportunities just because I was waiting for someone to do them with me.   In the past, I've given in to others' expectations of me.  I don't want to get to the end of my life and think of all the things I could have done.  I want to grow, to go places I've never been, to continue learning and working on myself as a person, to gather more skills, to be...better.

Lutheran theologian Robert H Smith wrote a poem about the "clock of time."

"The clock of time is wound but once,

And no man has the power

To tell just when the hands will stop

At late or early hour.

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,

To lose one's health is more,

To lose one's soul is such a loss

That no man can restore

The present only is our own,

So live, love, toil with a will,

Place no faith in "Tomorrow,"

For the Clock may then be still."

Stop hanging out with people who are wasting your time playing games. Stop putting off spending meaningful time with your kids. Stop waiting for someone else to join you in things you want to do. Stop postponing taking the trips you've always wanted to take. Stop coming up with excuses for why you can't take steps to enjoy your life and make it meaningful now, in whatever fashion that takes and however small those steps may be. 

If it sounds like I'm desperately preaching, it's as much for myself as anyone else. Teddy Roosevelt and British rock band the Struts don't have very much in common except maybe their opinions on how to live life:

Teddy Roosevelt:  "Let us run the risk of wearing out than rusting out."

The Struts: "Don't wanna live as an untold story.  Rather go out in a blaze of glory."

While these two may have very different ideas on what that means specifically, I plan on taking both their advice to the furthest extent humanly possible.  Because I know at least one person who'll never have the chances I've been given.

I still remember Daniel.