I’ve often held to the idea that each day is a gift that, if squandered, is lost, and so we should keep ourselves focused on our end goals every day and try not to think “hasta mañana” too often. We only have a countable number of hours to live life. I mean the life outside of “existence” that we gain by sleeping and eating- I mean the hours with meaning.
Today I read about a man, 60 years old, who had been searching for his birth father since he was 16. Forty four years he had been wondering; imagining, asking questions, reading phone books- and later- typing the name in the search bar. And then there came a day when the man on the other end of the line was the voice he had never heard, but had yearned for all his life.
A mother experiences something similar in a pregnancy- or even an adoption- waiting, wondering if today is the day, only to be continually disappointed. UNTIL the whirlwind comes, and everything changes. Everything.
The memory of the pregnancy is taken over by the advent of labor, which is then taken over by the gift of the life she’s been aching to hold close. For adoptive parents, the years of struggle- for funds, approval, waiting to be chosen- are but a memory when the call comes at last. Our defining moments redefine us every day.
So, I’ve decided that counting hours is not the only way to live with purpose. The same objective can be reached with the realization that each day is defining us at any given time. Each day is a replacement of the last. Tomorrow is a new life. Today is your whole existence. That is why repentance works and why illness is temporary.
The memories of your yesterdays remain, but todays count for more than yesterdays do.