Not surprisingly, I was first introduced to this idea in a poker forum. Poker players – thoughtful ones, anyway – often quantify things better than the average civilian. Our success in the game depends upon accurate quantification of relatively fuzzy concepts (“Is my hand good 33% of the time?”), so we bring those skills to IRL as well.
Anyway, a fellow related how he’d been invited to attend a friend’s wedding on the opposite coast. His initial gut reaction was the one that many of us would have: cost, time away from our regular world, hassle, and so on.
Then he looked at it from a different angle. He had just turned 40, and asked himself, “How many more times in my life do I expect to see this friend?” I don’t remember all the details of his calculations, but the point is that he did the calculations. He decided that his expected number of reunions with that friend was on the order of ten. Another feature of being a poker player is that we are comfortable with uncertainty. So this person knew that the number probably wasn’t exactly ten, but he could draw some real world conclusions and make informed decisions based on that number.
He went to the wedding.
If not now, when?
Here, with my 68th birthday behind me, this sort of calculus strikes me as invaluable. There are two principles that inform my thinking:
“Your priorities are what you do.” –M. Cochran
“If not now, when?” –T. Angelo & K. Gilligan
Margaret Cochran was my therapist 30 years ago. She said a lot of pithy things, quite a few of which have stuck with me. But none more than this. I don’t remember the context, but the message is clear: a priority list written on a piece of paper or Google doc is meaningless. To the degree that your time is your own (mine, blessedly, largely is) how you choose to spend the next minute, the next week – that is your priority. You speak with your feet.
Tommy Angelo and Kathleen Gilligan are dear friends of over 20 years. They are my age, and understand that, “One day, I’ll…” is a luxury that we no longer have.
I’ll add my own two cents to the philosophical musing:
“How long must I anticipate living beyond this moment to feel good about what I’m doing right now?” –L. Jones
At one extreme, if I somehow found myself watching an episode of Seinfeld, I’d have to believe that I was essentially immortal to continue doing that. At the other, suppose I’m out snorkeling with grandchild Elena, or sitting under an awning with my family at a Sierra foothills music festival. A specter approaches me and credibly tells me that I have ten minutes left on earth. That’s all right then – I’ll be sure to get Elena safely back to shore; I’ll go around the camp circle, hug everybody, and tell them what a glorious time it’s been. And ask them to sing one for me.
Finding a balance
I find myself asking questions such as, “How many more times will I visit the NC/VA mountains?” “How many more times will I see my friend Brad Willis?” “How many more times will I get to dive on a coral reef?”
Of course, the danger is that you try to artificially increase those numbers, at a disservice to your day-to-day life and sanity. My day-to-day life is so good that I have difficulty believing it. Coffee with Lisa, going to Elena’s flag football games, an evening of poker, pizza with the family for no reason whatsoever, picking with friends. My cup overflows – doing one of those, “How many more” items comes at some cost to that extraordinary ordinary.
But now I have a framework for my priorities – what I do tomorrow, next week, next month. The trade-offs are not always easy, made only more complex by future uncertainty. When will I no longer be able to thread a #7 tippet through the hook eye of a #14 Royal Wulff, or trust myself to wade a Blue Ridge trout stream? When will I be a danger to fellow divers on a dive boat? At what point will I not remember the chords to Old Home Place (much less any Norman Blake tune)?
But all that’s okay, because that’s probably the best lesson that poker players learn:
Make the best decision you can this moment, given the information you have now. The deck of cards – the universe – will unfold as it chooses, and you can’t control that. Live your priorities and be content that you lived today as you wished.
Today, I went for a run along Helton Creek in Ashe County, North Carolina, sat in a small coffee shop and read my book, and fixed a couple of veggie burgers for dinner. Then I sat on the back porch of my AirBnB and watched from Whitetop Mountain as the sun set over Mount Phoenix and Mount Jefferson.
I have no reason to think this will be my last day to enjoy a sunset, but if it turned out that way, I spent it well.