Greatness May Be One Day Away, But Every Today Makes a Life

So many times I was always excited about the possibilities of tomorrow. Now with more yesterdays than tomorrows in my life I realize it's time to see the now as it is.

So many times I was doing unpleasant work and was thinking, "In three hours this will be over." Other times when I was slammed at work I would say, "Please someone shoot me!" Who doesn't recall being tired and drained after doing some impossible work thing. Sometimes it's an exhausted proud moment; other times it's a "What was I ever thinking?" However, after I turned 65 yesterday I realized a life is finite, so slow down the wish for anything to speed up.

When I went to high school I swore that in the classes I didn't enjoy the clocks on the wall were broken and practically never moved. An hour class lasted forever. Other times, things like lunchtime were over just as I sat to eat. Later in life the commute to work was always something: If I left early there was no traffic, but if I left late there was record traffic, go figure. In fact I am one of those "last on a long line guys." That means I walk into a bank, a post office or even a department store and I get on a long line, and when it's my turn there never seems to be anyone behind me.

Living these last 15 years on Long Island has been a mixed bag of great times, hard times, and no time. I am now retired, (because folks stopped paying me to write) and I sail in Gardener's Bay quite a bit. I would wager no one is in Gardiner's Bay more than me other than the captain on the Captain Kidd IV who I see going back and forth to Gardiner's Island every day. On cold, raw, windy rainy days I don't envy him for that job, even though he has a big warm heated/cooled cabin. My 22' foot Catalina sailboat is quite exposed, as the photo above testifies. However I have grown to love even the "not the best days" on Gardiner's Bay, realizing and remembering those awful moments of being told what to do by someone I considered an imbecile. Now all decisions and mistakes are mine. I own them.

Yesterday on my actual 65th birthday my wife Cindi and I were sitting on a park bench as we stopped in the middle of a long walk in Central Park in New York City. I told her we were living a moment from a Paul Simon song, "Old friends, sat on the park bench like bookends." She looked at me like I was crazy, and she stood up to continue. Cindi still works 12 to 14 hour days, 6 days a week.

The gift Long Island gives me comes down to this: I love the landscapes out on the East End on both forks. When I was given the task to write North Fork stories even though I lived in Montauk at the time I loved driving all the way around to get the quotes. Editors said just do it over the phone; others refused to do the stories because of the time and expense to drive way out there — but I loved going there, I learned so much more from having my feet on the ground. That is what Long Island offers — a multitude of great places to go put your feet on the ground. For many greatness may be a day away, but every today makes a life.