In the Living Years

An old song, a Lincoln Town Car, and my grandfather’s lesson on making the most of the time we’re given.

Looking at this old photo of my Grandpa Bob and me, I don’t remember anything about the day it was taken. But what I do remember is the man beside me and the countless lessons I learned from him.

When I got a little older, Grandpa Bob would pick me up from work every Tuesday and we’d head to lunch. It was always either Italian or Chinese. Without fail, he’d spill something on his tie, use language that would make General George Patton blush and leave a tip far more than the bill required.

I treasured those Tuesday lunches. I loved his booming laugh, his unwavering faith, and his life stories that seemed to offer exactly the wisdom I needed for whatever season I was walking through.

There was one more thing that always happened.

On our drive back to work, he’d reach over, hit play and turn the volume up on his favorite CD, Mike + The Mechanics. That’s right, my 80-year-old grandpa loved to rock out in his Lincoln Town Car, windows down, singing along to “In the Living Years”

As a young person, I was embarrassed.

Today, I can’t hear that song without thinking about Grandpa. Or the lesson he was teaching me long before I was ready to hear it.

The tragedy in life isn’t simply that we lose the people we love. It’s believing we’ll always have another Tuesday. It’s assuming there will always be one more lunch, one more drive, one more conversation, one more Mike + The Mechanics karaoke session.

And yet, life rarely tells us we’re living the last time.

The last lunch simply feels like every other lunch. The last drive feels like every other drive. And the last hug feels like any other hug.

In other words, it all feels so ordinary.

Until one day, it isn’t.

Years after Grandpa’s death, I finally understand why that song meant so much to him.

No, it’s not because of the musical genius of Mike or his Mechanics. It’s because of the reminder hidden within the lyrics.

The living years are the only years when gratitude can still be spoken and forgiveness can still be offered. The living years are the only years when questions can still be asked, relationships can still be repaired and love can still be expressed.

Most of us carry regrets we’ll never fully erase. Conversations we postponed, forgiveness we delayed, gratitude we never completely expressed. And while we can’t go back, we can decide whether these regrets become our greatest source of guilt or our greatest source of growth.

The past is a remarkable teacher, but a terrible place to live.

So let’s learn from our regrets. Let’s become quicker to forgive, quicker to encourage and quicker to show up. Let’s choose to be love, to model gratitude and to exude joy. While we can’t undo yesterday’s mistakes, we can redeem them by refusing to make them again.

That’s how regret becomes wisdom.

That’s how the past changes the future.

And that’s how we live more fully…in the living years.

That’s worth rolling down your windows and singing about.

So say it, say it loud.

Today is your day.  Live Inspired.