Time for everything, time for anything

I originally planned to finish this series in twelve months, intending to write one entry a week for 52 weeks. But, other things came up and I didn’t have as much time as I thought I would. We moved, you started a new school, I had other projects, etc. But finally, I’m starting my last entry in September, nine months after I’d planned. Which is the perfect intro to this one.

Time is funny like that. It marches on like a metronome, indifferent to how much you wish it would slow down or speed up. It offers no do-overs, no matter how frivolously you spend it. And it gives zero fucks what you planned to accomplish in the time you had. Once that time is over, you’ll get no more. But, it also stretches out ahead of you into an unknown future, offering untold possibility and infinite choices.

Which is why I hope you both learn to make choices about how you spend your time and understand what those choices mean. Because while there’s never enough time for everything, there’s still enough time to do almost anything.

Your choices make all the difference.

In a video about finishing big projects, Jason Pargin discusses how he managed to complete and publish five novels on deadline while working a full-time job that was not writing said novels. For anyone who’d tackle a similarly sized (big ass) project, he first asks what they’d be willing to drop from their life. He says “no one thinks of the project they’re taking on as a trade-off, but it always is.”

I myself am guilty of this shortsightedness, as evidenced by my failing to complete this project in the time I’d originally allowed. See, there’s never enough time to do everything, and choosing to do something almost always means you can’t do something else.

Every minute I spend working on this Important Shit I Can’t Teach My Son Yet is a minute I don’t have to write stand-up jokes or short stories, go hiking with you, or get abs. Thankfully, your Mom will still love me without abs. Your hikes these days are as short as your short legs. But, the other projects go on hold. I set this project as my priority and accept I won’t be doing stand-up while I try to finish it. Same goes for writing new short stories or a novel.

I’m (admittedly) not great at making these choices; my default is to have more hobbies and interests than I have time for and half-ass my way through all of them. That’s because it took me a long time to learn that  I don’t have enough time to do everything. So, before you join a new club, take up a new sport, or decide to write a novel, ask yourself what you’re willing to give up.

Side note: making these choices is much easier if you learn to flip any FOMO (fear of missing out) into JOMO (joy of missing out.) Focus your intention and energy into the book you’re actually writing, not the DILFS of Asheville meetup you skipped. Be present and content doing what you chose to do.

This lesson applies to more than hobbies and projects. There’s never enough time to visit with and connect to all the friends and family you care about. There’s never enough time to teach your son everything you want to teach him. There’s never enough time to do all the cool things you want to do with your family.

But.

There’s still enough time for almost anything, if you choose to make it a priority. There’s still enough time to visit with and connect to all the friends and family you care most about. There’s still enough time to teach your son the most important things you want to teach him. There’s still  enough time to do the most important things you want to do with your family.

The choices you make will make the difference.

I can’t visit all my close friends. But, by making an effort and being intentional in my planning, I can schedule vacations with those willing to reciprocate that effort.

I might not be able to teach you everything I want to teach you, but I made the time to write down some of the most important things here.

Your Mom and I won’t have time to do everything we can imagine and take every trip we want to as a family, but we can choose and plan to make sure we get to do the things we think are really important.

At eighteen, it’s easy to look out at the months, years, and decades you think you have coming and feel as if you have all the time in the world. Especially when you’re young, invincible, and years away from your first gray hair. You might see an infinite series of possible paths and choices laid out and waiting for you to explore. On the flip side, you might see all the things you hope to accomplish and all the hours you’ll need to accomplish them and feel the crushing weight of all those expectations.

I hope you find the center of those two extremes. Because while your possibilities are infinite, your time here on Earth is not.

You’ll never have enough time with the people you love, but there’s still enough time to tell the ones you still have that you love them.

There’s never enough time to accomplish everything you want to accomplish, but there’s still enough time to finish something you’ve been putting off too long.

See how this works? It’s about making choices. You can’t do everything, but you can still do almost anything.

And that’s how I want to leave you.

These pages don’t have everything you need to know, and they certainly don’t have everything I ever want to teach you. I made choices with the time I had to write this project, choosing what to leave in and what to leave out.

I hope you forgive my errors and omissions. As I said before, I’m figuring this out as I go along. I hope you find this helpful, and that it inspires you. Writing this down has certainly inspired me; I find myself trying to be the man I’m trying to teach you to be. It’s forced me to face my own shortcomings, to examine and articulate my own beliefs, and to try to be a better father, husband, and friend. More importantly, I hope you know how much you are loved, both by me, your Mom, and so many others.

So. What now? Enjoy the possibility before you. Make the most of it. Try to take some of my advice, but know it won’t always be right.

I love you,

Dad