In an attempt to cure a lingering burnt out feeling that sat with me for most of the fourth quarter, my girlfriend and I took the 2 weeks off over the holidays to do a different kind of work: deep cleaning and reorganizing our home. We went room by room pulling out the little things, putting others in donation piles, and laughing with surprise at mementos from van life we hid away in the urgency of unpacking a year ago. In all the rearranging, it also gave me a few moments to appreciate the sentimental items I mindlessly stare at all the time.
Among these is a picture I bought at Pike’s Market in Seattle on my first business trip around 2008. I was in business development for an HR technology company manning the booth at a conference for resume writers. Each morning, I would get up hours before the conference began to wander around the downtown area. I extended the trip one day after the programming ended to explore the city by day and found a small bar tucked into the second story. I sat at a booth by the window in complete awe of this beauty where mountains met the ocean. I had never seen mountains growing up on the East Coast. Surely nothing like these.
After a few beers, I wandered down the steps to see photos for sale. 17 years and 5 cross country moves later, I still have it. In all the shedding seasons of getting rid of everything, I couldn’t part with this. It reminds me of the magic of the first time - the wonder and awe. So when we redecorated our bedroom, I put that picture on a shelf I can see from my desk as a reminder to live each day like it’s my first.
I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase, “live each day like it’s your last,” but 40 years into this life I believe that’s bad advice. While I can appreciate a bit of “f*ck it” energy, too much focus on the end made me rush through what’s beautiful. The internalization of that mentality made every second matter in a way that was supremely toxic, especially at work. If every second matters, every second adds up. Success was a formula and what’s the value of rest or awe in that math?
Who could not burn out under that merciless kind of living?
This shift from focusing on the end to joy in the beginning didn’t happen quickly, but has come as a consequence of forcing myself to actually do things for the first time. Things like a stained glass class or making bread (which I failed at 5 times before I got anything edible, might I add). The curiosity and wonder. The awe and delight. The joy of an idea taking flight for the first time all over again. That’s why I won’t live these days as if they’re my last, instead trying to rediscover the magic of the first time.
