Monday morning perspective

Leonard Pitts Jr

OK, so the morning didn't start off so well...

A driver turned in front of me on a red light when I had the right-of-way. The pool was closed because of too much chlorine. The cashier at Starbucks rang up my purchase incorrectly. The grocery store wasn't yet open when I pulled up to buy a package of bagels.

I know, I know. All petty stuff. But I didn't let it bother me. And I'm glad because when I opened the paper and read Leonard Pitts' column, it reminded me of the stuff that matters and how, with each year, you really need to step out and do those things you've either put off or haven't tried.

In April, Pitts wrote in his column that he would participate in the Susan K. Komen 3-Day For The Cure, a 60-mile, three-day walk to raise money against breast cancer. Six months and nearly 500 reader donations later, he raised $27,000, more than 10 times the mandatory minimum of $2,300.

After an 18-mile training hike, Pitts wrote of what you notice when you're walking and not driving: a lake not quite visible from the road, a sidewalk curving beneath some trees, a wooden footbridge. That's a pleasant enough reminder: to stop and smell the roses.

But even more I liked what he had to say about life's stages:

Lately, I have this theory that we live in three great arcs. The first 25 years are for coming of age, figuring out who you are, getting an education, starting a career.

The next 25 are for rat racing, raising your kids, paying a mortgage, building a life.

But from 50 until ... that's for having some fun, for trying something new, for being of service, and for doing some of those things you always said you'd do, someday.

As I said, it's a theory. But sometimes life is like driving a car. You are so focused on the destination that you keep getting to places without realizing how you got there. When did my youngest child become a woman? How is it that high school will soon be 40 years past? And what happened to those things I said I'd do, someday?

I always said someday I'd walk to raise money against breast cancer in honor of my mom, who died of the disease in 1988. That's an easy thing to say. Not so easy to do. Each year, I found perfectly logical, rational reasons to talk myself out of it, not least of which is the fact that I am more sedentary than your average boulder. I'd have to be crazy to think of walking 60 miles.

And the truth is, I probably never would have done it, except that one day, I just did: I snuck up on myself, signed up without giving myself a chance to talk me out of it. 

Lots of wisdom there. And food for thought. I'm going to think of what I haven't done and vow to do it within the next year.

By the way, here's a link to Pitts' column.