When you're young, a lifetime seems almost endless.
At ten years old, fifty sounds ancient.
At twenty, you believe you have all the time in the world.
At forty, you're busy making a living, raising a family, paying bills, and trying to build something
for tomorrow.
Then one morning, you look into the mirror and realize something remarkable.
Tomorrow got here.
I'm 82 years old.
And one of the greatest lessons I can share is this:
A lifetime passes much faster than you think it will.
It Seems Like Yesterday
Sometimes I can close my eyes and almost become that young boy again.
I can remember Houston when I was growing up.
I remember wondering what kind of life waited ahead of me.
Then came the Marine Corps.
Boot camp.
The rifle range.
Iceland.
The Cuban Missile Crisis.
Standing in uniform as a young Marine, I certainly wasn't thinking about being 82 years old someday.
I was thinking about the next assignment.
The next meal.
The next payday.
The next adventure.
And somehow, those "nexts" became a lifetime.
Then Life Started Moving Faster
I became a photographer.
I worked in newspapers.
I went into the oilfields.
I married.
We raised a family.
I built businesses.
I built houses.
I watched one house disappear and another burn.
I succeeded at some things.
I failed at others.
I made good decisions and some I wouldn't make again.
There were celebrations, funerals, births, weddings, disappointments, victories, illnesses,
friendships, and goodbyes.
And somewhere during all of that, the calendar pages began turning faster.
At least it seemed that way.
We Spend Too Much Time Waiting
One mistake many of us make is believing real life will begin sometime later.
When I get the promotion.
When the children are grown.
When the house is paid for.
When I retire.
When I have enough money.
When things settle down.
But things rarely settle down for very long.
Life isn't waiting somewhere in the future.
Life is happening today.
That ordinary Tuesday morning you barely notice?
That's part of your life.
Sitting across the table from your wife drinking coffee?
That's life.
Talking with your children or grandchildren?
That's life.
Walking outside and watching the sun come up?
That's life.
We keep waiting for the big moments while some of the greatest moments slip quietly past us.
Someday Becomes Yesterday
There were things I once said I would do "someday."
I suspect everybody has a few of those.
Someday I'll take that trip.
Someday I'll call that old friend.
Someday I'll tell somebody I love them.
Someday I'll repair that relationship.
Someday I'll write that book.
Someday I'll get serious about my faith.
Someday I'll enjoy life instead of constantly working.
Here's something 82 years have taught me:
Someday is a dangerous word.
Because someday has a habit of quietly becoming yesterday.
The People Matter More Than the Things
I've owned things I thought were important.
Cars.
Boats.
Houses.
Businesses.
Equipment.
Possessions.
Some disappeared.
Some broke.
Some burned.
Some were sold.
Some simply stopped mattering.
But people?
That's different.
As you get older, you realize the greatest treasures weren't sitting in your garage or bank account.
They were sitting around your dinner table.
They were riding beside you in the car.
They were calling you Dad, Grandpa, husband, brother, or friend.
I wish younger people could understand that before life has to teach it to them.
Take More Pictures — But Also Be in Them
I spent part of my life behind a camera.
I photographed history.
I photographed people.
I photographed events.
But there is something else I've learned.
Don't spend your entire life watching from behind the lens.
Get into the picture.
Participate.
Laugh.
Dance.
Travel.
Love somebody.
Make memories.
Tell the stories.
And don't worry quite so much about whether everything is perfect.
Very little in life ever is.
Don't Carry Anger Longer Than Necessary
At 82, I can tell you that some things we get angry about simply aren't worth the time we give them.
Arguments that seemed terribly important thirty years ago are now difficult to even remember.
Pride has destroyed relationships that could have been saved with four simple words:
"I was wrong. I'm sorry."
Forgive when you can.
Apologize when you should.
Love people while they're still here to receive it.
Time has a way of ending arguments permanently.
Faith Looks Different After Eight Decades
When you're young, death seems like something belonging to somebody else.
As the years pass, you attend more funerals.
Parents leave.
Friends leave.
People you worked beside leave.
Eventually, you realize your own journey has a destination.
For me, that realization doesn't bring despair.
It makes faith more precious.
I believe this life is not the end.
My faith in Jesus Christ means more to me today than it ever did when I was younger.
I've had eight decades to see plans change, possessions disappear, people disappoint me,
and circumstances turn upside down.
But my faith has remained.
And when everything temporary begins looking temporary, eternity starts looking very important.
I'm Not Finished Yet
Being 82 doesn't mean I'm sitting around waiting for the final chapter.
I'm still writing.
Still learning.
Still dreaming.
Still telling stories.
Still thinking about adventures.
Still trying to help somebody else avoid a few mistakes I made along the way.
That's part of the reason for 82 Years — 82 Lessons.
If eight decades of living have taught me something useful, perhaps sharing it can help somebody
with decades still ahead of them.
So Here's the Lesson
If you're 25, don't believe you have forever.
If you're 45, don't keep postponing your life.
If you're 65, don't assume your best adventures are behind you.
And if you're 82?
Wake up tomorrow morning thankful that God gave you another day.
Use it.
Call somebody.
Love somebody.
Forgive somebody.
Help somebody.
Go somewhere.
Write something.
Learn something.
Laugh about something.
And thank God for the privilege of still being here.
Because eventually, you discover something nobody completely understands when
they're young:
A lifetime doesn't feel like a lifetime when you're looking backward.
It feels like a collection of moments.
Some wonderful.
Some painful.
Some ordinary.
And all of them incredibly brief.
Yesterday I was a boy wondering what life would become.
Then I was a young Marine.
Then a husband.
A father.
A businessman.
A grandfather.
And now I'm 82 years old, wondering where all those years went.
They didn't disappear.
They became my life.
And that's why today's lesson may be one of the most important of all:
Don't just count your years.
Make your years count.
— Mike Cunningham
82 Years — 82 Lessons
mikesobservations.com
