After years of wasting my life, sands of time are slipping away

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.

And so things rolled along. I almost married someone who I thought was the love of my life a few years later, but I chose poorly at a critical time. I lost her. But I still had plenty of time.

I could still find my creative purpose. I could still marry the right woman. I could still have loving and happy children. I still had plenty of time.

The years after that seem empty. I quit politics — with nothing to show for 20 years of effort. I was alone and confused and unhappy. But I had time to start all over again. There was plenty of time.

I found love again, but I lost love again. I made a living but never quite found the right purpose. I didn’t make the films I had dreamed of making. I didn’t write the books I had planned to write. I didn’t seem to do much of anything that mattered.

I came up with plans. I tried a few things. I refocused my efforts at times, but then I let things slip away. I was a real estate broker by now. It was nothing but a way to make a living, though. I had no family. I had a dog and cats, but nobody else.

And suddenly, it no longer felt as though I had plenty of time.

I don’t feel old. I’m not quitting. I’m not giving up. But the time seems shorter than it once did. Where was the family I had wanted to build? Where was the wife I wanted to love? Why couldn’t I seem to make a difference in the world?

For the first time in my life, it feels as though time is slipping away. I don’t have all the years to waste that I once seemed to have. I expect to live a long time — decades, not just a few years — but am I finally going to find the love and purpose and meaning that I’ve been expecting?

Maybe I’m in denial, but I do still think I’ll find the things I’ve always needed. I’m more emotionally healthy than I’ve ever been. I’m more clear now than I’ve ever been about what I need to say to the world. I’m more confident than ever that I can change lives — not change the entire world, but at least change a few lives.

But I no longer have unlimited time. The sands are running through that hourglass far too quickly. And the decisions I make — very soon, not years from now — are going to determine whether my remaining life is filled with love and purpose. Or if I’ll waste those years, too.

I love this life far too much to waste what’s left of it. I can’t change some of my past mistakes, but I can change things starting this year — because I no longer have plenty of time.