I’ve always thought I had plenty of time.
No matter what happened to me, I had plenty of time to change things. I had plenty of time to try again. Plenty of time to fix my mistakes.
When I became managing editor of a small daily newspaper while I was still just 21 years old, I thought I was way ahead of schedule. I had plenty of time and I was going to live up to my potential. I was going to do great things.
When I started my own newspaper company in my late 20s, I was pleased with myself. But then my company failed by the time I was 30. But I still had plenty of time.
When I became a political consultant a few years later, I thought I was finally on track. Surely this was where I would make my mark. I was going to be someone important.
Politics led to a high income, but nothing of importance. I wasted 20 years. I ended up divorced. I had nothing to show for my life yet. But I still had plenty of time.

Fetish for privatizing misses point; it’s having a choice that matters
No matter how admired you are, your work won’t make you special
Few things satisfy like giving thoughtful gifts to those we love
China’s one-child policy: Unintended consequences on a grand scale
Calm and perspective needed for Boston, not accusations and games
I don’t know how to amuse you into taking your future seriously
Are government employee unions making the rest of us unsafe?