The Things That Matter Most
Sometimes the best moments of the week are the ones you never planned for.
Monday through Thursday, I worked.
Not just at my 9-to-5. I spent a lot of time thinking about where I am, where I’m headed, and what I actually want next.
Wednesday brought a significant event. I won’t get into the details here, but it was one of those moments that asks you to bring your best self to the table. The kind of day that reminds you preparation matters.
Tuesday was different.
I attended calling hours for a family member’s mother who passed away. I found myself sitting with cousins I hadn’t seen in quite some time. Loss has a way of doing that. It pulls people back into the same room and reminds everyone how connected we really are.
As the week moved forward, I found myself thinking a lot about time. How quickly it moves. How easy it is to believe there will always be another opportunity to make a call, schedule a visit, or spend an afternoon with the people who matter most.
Then Friday arrived, and everything shifted.
That morning, I went for a hike with Jasper.
Just the two of us.
He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ll remember that walk longer than I’ll remember any report, meeting, or deliverable from this month. Watching him explore the trail, stop to inspect every rock, and point out things only a two-year-old would notice reminded me how quickly these years are passing.
The walk wasn’t long.
But it felt important.
Friday afternoon brought something else I hadn’t done in years.
I played golf with my dad at Westfield.
My first full round in three years.
I shot a 112.
And honestly, I couldn’t have cared less.
The score wasn’t the point.
The point was spending four hours walking the course with my dad. Talking about family, work, travel, and everything in between. One of those afternoons where the conversation matters far more than the game.
The older I get, the more I realize moments like that become rarer.
And because of that, they become more valuable.
Saturday brought another milestone.
My dad turned 70.
We gathered at Jasper’s grandma’s house with family and friends. The neighbors made homemade pasta from scratch. We brought desserts. Stories were shared. Laughter filled the room.
It wasn’t a dinner anyone spent months planning.
It just happened.
And somehow those are always the best ones.
There was something special about watching Jasper run through the house while three generations of family sat around talking. One day he’ll have memories of these gatherings. One day he’ll remember birthdays, family dinners, and Sunday afternoons.
Right now he’s just living them.
Sunday brought Father’s Day.
More family. More stories. More time together.
And somewhere between the work, the loss, the hike, the golf round, the homemade pasta, and Father’s Day, I noticed something changing.
I stopped chasing outcomes.
Not in some dramatic or spiritual way.
Just in small moments.
When I felt the urge to refresh my email, I let it go.
When I caught myself reaching for my phone instead of paying attention to Jasper, I let it go.
When I started trying to optimize a moment with my dad instead of simply enjoying it, I let it go.
Each time, I repeated the same thought:
“My part is done.”
And then I focused on being where I already was.
The funny thing is that the biggest moments of the week weren’t on my calendar.
They happened on a trail with Jasper.
On a golf course with my dad.
Around a table at Jasper’s grandma’s house eating homemade pasta.
At a wake where loss reminded everyone what actually matters.
I still have ambitions.
I still have goals.
I’m building projects that excite me and pursuing opportunities that could lead somewhere meaningful.
But none of those things are more important than this:
The hike.
The round.
The pasta.
The Father’s Day dinner.
Because if I achieve every milestone and miss those moments, then I missed the point entirely.
This week reminded me that life isn’t waiting somewhere in the future after the next promotion, project, or accomplishment.
It’s already happening.
And the outcomes that matter most don’t show up on a resume.
They’re already sitting across the table from you.
All you have to do is look up and notice.