Writing is my artistic expression. My keyboard is my brush. Words are my medium. My blog is my canvas. And committing to writing daily makes me feel like an artist.
I love this metaphor for how to live a meaningful life, “Live a lifetime in a day,” shared by Harvard physician Dr Aditi Nerurkar on The Diary of a CEO podcast. I took the liberty of emphasizing each of the 5 stages for easy reference:
“[w]hat creates a meaningful life… is to live a lifetime in a day.
And so that sounds like this big thing, but all it is, is that when you start your day, think about five things,
five things that you can do in your day to create an arc of a long and meaningful life in one day.
So what does that mean?
Spend a little bit of time in childhood.
So in wonder and play, even if it’s for a few minutes, do something that brings you joy for joy’s sake.
Spend a little bit of time in work.
We all know what that is, and for most of us, it’s a lot of time, but for, you know, it doesn’t have to be paid work, but just something that helps you feel a sense of productivity agency that I can do difficult things and I can overcome.
Spend a few minutes in solitude,
very important for all of the reasons that we’ve talked about today.
Spend some time in community,
so engaging with others, and then
spend some time in retirement or in reflection,
really taking stock of your day. So at the end of the day, when you’re going to bed and you’re putting your head on your pillow, you can say, okay, yes, I lived a meaningful life. I did all of those things.”
What a beautiful frame to start your day with. Usually I’ve got more reflection to contribute after I share something like this, but I really don’t this morning.
We’d all be a bit more happy, more appreciative of the life we live, if this was our daily goal.
“You pity the moth confusing a lamp for the moon, yet here you are confusing a screen for the world.” — Jay Alto
Our fixation is intense. We cling to tiny dopamine hits, scrolling unaware of the world around us. Ironically, what we are doing is dividing our attention into tiny video clips, catchy sound bites, and dancing in an emotional roller coaster between humour and rage, while simultaneously focusing our attention on a single screen.
We are merely moths, our screens are the light to which we fly. Our humanity suspended as we meet some primordial desire in a way that would be considered comical if it wasn’t also sad, if not tragic.
Although I’m retiring at the end of the school year I really haven’t been tracking or counting down (yet). But I do have a colleague that is also retiring and he shared with me that yesterday marked 100 work days until we are done. So I’m heading into work today with just 99 work days left. That seems a bit surreal to me.
I know someone who started their retirement countdown with over 2 years left. It worked for him, but my mind doesn’t operate that way. I have always struggled with being excited through anticipation. I used to fake it for my kids, but they are grown up now. I get a tiny bit excited for a trip the night before, but only after my bag is packed. Even if I’m packing a bathing suit to go sit on a beach, the excitement level isn’t that high for me.
Sometimes I feel like I’m missing out by not getting excited in advance. I see excited anticipation in others and wonder what gene I’m missing that I don’t get the same feeling. I know that comparison is the thief of joy, but there is something ironic about joy being the thing you are lacking in your comparison.
99 days. Down to double digits. It seems short. There is still so much to do. And yet, I’m ready. Maybe not excitedly ready, but I’m ready.
I had lunch with a former student yesterday. It was great to connect and hear how things are going, not just for him, but for his brother and a few other former students he still connects with. It grounds me when I have these opportunities. It reminds me that school is just a short stop on the journey of life. It puts school into perspective.
And yet, despite saying that, the experience we give to students is so important. I read a post on LinkedIn yesterday by an educator I admire and respect. He has a wonderful, high needs kid with challenges that make her school experience difficult. In the post he shared how inflexible the system, or more specifically some people in the system, have been with her… and how hard it has been for her to cope with this in addition to the challenges she faces.
Going back to my visit, this student went to our school when I was overwhelmed, running 3 schools and also dealing with chronic fatigue. He remembers how I struggled. He reminded me of my own challenges I had. But that wasn’t the focus of our conversation, and it wasn’t the only thing we reminisced about.
Still, this provides a little insight into a couple things. First of all, we all deal with things that affect how we cope with daily life, and we can’t really see how we are affected by circumstances or even be aware of how circumstances are affecting others. Secondly, as short as the school journey is, it makes a huge difference in peoples lives.
Our interactions, our attention, our considerations, our disposition, and our actions make differences in the experiences of students. We don’t know the full impact we will have. We don’t know the things people will remember about us when they move on… the best we can do is to remember that all of our interactions matter, and that we have an impact whether we realize it or not, so let’s work to make that impact the best it can be.
Just before the school year started I decided that I would choose a ‘#OneWord’ for the (school) year, and that it would be PAUSE. The tradition for One Word is to choose it to start the calendar year, but for my final school year I thought it was apropos.
I shared,
“There is a lot I’m going to miss when I leave this job, what I don’t want to do is miss things while I still have time to enjoy them. I’m going to seek out opportunities to take pause in my day and truly experience the things I cherish.”
This came to mind a few times from September to December, but not often enough. Moments where I spent a little extra time in a class, or didn’t just leave the class after one presentation so that I could see the next one. Moments where I sat to chat with staff rather than just sharing a message or asking a question then heading back to my office. Small pauses, meaningful but sparse.
This is my personal reminder to pause a little more often as I head to my end of the school year retirement… what I don’t want to do is miss things while I still have time to enjoy them.
Tomorrow is the last day of our winter break and I have to say that I feel fully ready to get back to work. January is probably my busiest month and if I’m honest, I was not looking forward to starting back after the break.
And now I’m ready.
I can’t say that I fully shut down, but I did so far more than usual, and I think that’s part of the reason I feel so recharged. It’s a little unfortunate that I’m figuring this out so late in my career. For example, I didn’t ignore email, but I realized that there really isn’t much that can’t wait for a response this coming Monday or Tuesday. So I let it go. Earlier in my career I would have felt compelled to respond right away, often unintentionally inviting another email and more work… when the need for a response was not urgent.
Both ‘letting go’ and ‘turning off’ are cathartic, refuelling. Understanding that not just my body but my brain also needs a break is the reason I’m ready.
In the grand scheme of things the end of a year is arbitrary. It does not sit on a solstice, it has no real significance in the dance of the planets around our sun. It’s simply a date on the Gregorian calendar, so named after a Pope almost 450 years ago. And yet the end of a calendar year begs us to do some accounting for the year that has past, and it makes us ponder our accountability for the year to come.
It is a pause in the meter of a timeline we all share. A moment to take note, to reflect, to make sense of what was, and to then align with what we think should come next.
For me there sits a simple, key question to ponder: Was it a good year? The answer is less simple. Did I seize it or waste my year? Did I find more joy than sorrow? What will I cherish, and what do I wish to forget? What did and didn’t I accomplish? Was I present enough? Did I create anything of value? Do I keep going ‘as-is’ or make changes?
These are reflections and perspectives I have control over. But 2025 had moments I could not control. A loved one suffered a scary health incident with a slow, lingering recovery. And I lost a sister both unexpectedly and too soon. Reminders that we are only on this earth a short time and time is ultimately limited. Such reminders simultaneously make me want to leave 2025 behind, and yet leave me wanting to hold onto the past… hold on to an innocence, if not ignorance, of the pain of loss.
But that was the year that was, not the year yet to be. That was 2025, a year with only hours left before the calendar is forever left in the past. A year that I leave with a whimper not a bang. Maybe in the grand scheme of things the end of the year is arbitrary, but for me, I’m happy to leave the year that was behind… A reminder to value and cherish 2026 not only this time next year, but meaningful moment by meaningful moment all year long.
“The meaning of life is to give life a meaning.” Viktor Frankl
I sometimes think we spend most of our lives like Santiago, the protagonist in Paulo Coelho’s book, The Alchemist… seeking a treasure that was always under his nose.
We seek meaning, we don’t make it.
We strive for more, not realizing how much more we already have, or as Chris Williamson says, “You have already achieved goals that you said would make you happy.”
We desire stuff that distracts us from ourselves. We look outward when we should look inward. We seek accolades instead of seeking happiness or gratitude.
We spend our time chasing opportunities that rob us of time, in an endless loop that makes us live a life of not noticing.
Not noticing the beauty of the world around us. Not noticing the opportunities to connect with people we care about. Not thinking twice about mindlessly scheduling another hour in our calendar for a work meeting, but not blocking off time to call or spend time with a friend.
When I say, ‘We seek meaning, we don’t make it.’ What I really mean is that we play hide and seek with meaning. It’s hidden within us, and yet we spend our time in pursuit of it anywhere and everywhere else… and don’t understand why it’s so elusive?
I spent the afternoon with my mom, her sister, my wife and my kids. My aunt had us in stitches. It was wonderful having a good belly laugh. My favourite line from my auntie. “I like living by myself. I’m fine to talk to myself, I don’t need anybody else. It’s only a problem if I hear voices talking back, other than that, I’m good.”
Before this, I spent most of the day with an old friend. I can’t travel back home to my mom and not find time to see my buddy.
It’s just wonderful to realize that what I value most are my family and friends. Give me this, and my health, and I really don’t need much else from this world.
A couple years ago I had a herniated disk. The herniation pinched a nerve going into my left arm and that’s where I felt the pain… a pain that seemed ever present. I was on very strong meds. I supplemented these with legal but more recreational drugs. The prescription ones made the pain tolerable. The recreational ones helped me move the pain from my brain to my arm, to relieve the anguish of being in constant pain.
The timing went like this: In early February the pain started. In early March I got the preliminary diagnosis, and was prescribed medication. I visited my parents for March break and the day I arrived my dad had a stroke. I spent the next 12 days in agony, helping my family deal with dad hospitalized, while making physio appointments and getting IMS treatment for the constant physical agony I was in.
When I got home from that trip I got prescribed much harder drugs. I was in constant pain. One day in late April I was driving to school and I realized that I shouldn’t be driving, my meds were too strong. This hit me hard, I instantly made the connection that if I shouldn’t be driving, I shouldn’t be in charge of a school. I was able to make a doctor’s appointment the very next day, and I got a letter to take some time off. That day I also got a phone call to say that I better get home to my parents. My dad, who never left the hospital since his stroke, had taken a turn for the worse and probably wouldn’t make it through the night.
I said a final goodbye to him over the phone before getting on a late night flight. I’ll never know if he heard those words. I spent another 10 or so days back with my mom, cleaning up things my dad left behind that needed to get cleaned up. At this point I was also supplementing my prescription.
I hit a low point after I returned home. One unusually painful night I had to ask my daughter to drive me to the dispensary… a dad asking his daughter to drive him to get his fix. That’s not really what it was, but it felt like that to me. Loser dad who can barely get himself from bed to the couch, and didn’t have the wherewithal to even get dinner ready for a wife working full time, having to get his daughter to drive him to buy drugs. Not a proud moment for me.
Within a couple more weeks, the inflammation reduced, the nerve wasn’t compressed as much, and I was able to get back to only a mild prescription… And then back to work after 5 or 6 weeks off. The whole experience was awful physically and emotionally, but it had an end! I knew it had an end, but sometimes at my worst I questioned it. I wondered, if this is life from now on, could I go on?
—-
My sister had an MS diagnosis for over 25 years. Slowly and incrementally she lost feeling in her legs. They were numb to the touch, but she felt pain, searing sciatica pain. Shooting pain that ran down her legs. For the most part things would stay static, then she’d have a small episode, and she’d lose a bit more feeling, be a bit less mobile, but the pain persisted. About 4-5 years ago the episodes escalated, and her mobility declined much more quickly. And still the pain.
Recently it became clear that she’d be moving from a walker to a wheelchair. A week ago she had six falls (only 6 that I’m aware of in that week). She would cut her finger cutting vegetables, and not feel it, only becoming aware of the injury from seeing the blood. And despite this numbness and lack of feeling, there was still the never-ending sciatica pain.
On Monday her daily pain was ended. 56 years old. Half of that time in incrementally greater pain. I can honestly say that she was stronger than me.
I’ll miss her dearly, and yet I’m thankful she isn’t going to suffer any more.
Sharon Silvera Truss May 15, 1969 – November 24, 2025
