Borrowed Time

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about borrowed time.  Not as a sad thing, but as the greatest gift we ever get.  

None of us are promised the big milestones we dream about. Weddings, anniversaries, birthdays that end in zero. The stuff that actually changes us usually shows up in the quiet, ordinary minutes in between.

By any logical math, I shouldn’t have had this many years with Traci.  We’ve had more than our fair share of “this might be it” chapters than I can count.  

And yet here we are: meds at 5 a.m., G-tube feeds round the clock, life in our little “mission HQ” apartment. We’ve got IV poles and pill stations sharing space with Disney art and a loveseat, and a reminder that says “You & Me – We Got This.” None of that is glamorous. But all of it feels like time I wasn’t guaranteed. Every slow morning, every silly show in the background, every small laugh when the day is heavier than it should be—that’s borrowed time.

Same thing with this season I’m in now.  

I’m 47 years old, starting a new remote job and working out of a craft room we’ve turned into my command center. That certainly wasn’t what I dreamed of at any point in life.  But I’m kind of digging it because there is a certain amount of freedom and balance that’s coming into my life.

For example take today. I had a field appointment and had walked a simple job site in Pasadena, met with our project manager, and talked through scopes and appliances. On paper it was nothing special. But because I was there in Pasadena, I texted my daughter Abby that I was in her backyard just to see if she was free to grab a quick lunch before her Disneyland Hotel wedding that’s now just days away. One hour of sandwiches and talking about nothing and everything. That lunch only existed because a bunch of schedules and details lined up just right. That’s borrowed time too.

The older I get, the more I think we secretly live like time is a subscription that auto-renews.  

Next season. Next year. “When things calm down.”  

But it doesn’t work like that. Today is completely on loan.  The five-minute hug in the kitchen. The extra bedtime story, or giggling with my wife about ridiculousness until we drift to sleep. Even the quiet drive to the pharmacy for the reload of meds, or squeezing in a quick meal with friends.  

That’s the real wealth. That’s the good stuff.

So I’m trying to treat my days less like a to-do list, and more like a borrowed library book I’m grateful to hold for a while. Take care of it. Use it well. Don’t assume I can renew it forever.

Time really is the greatest gift we get.  

The big milestones matter, sure. But the moments in between—the hospital room jokes, the Disneyland days where you’re both exhausted, or today where the simple Pasadena lunch just eight days before a wedding—those aren’t the background.  

They ARE the story.