It’s Not Just My Time

Sunday afternoon, I was taking my usual walk through the park. I’d been thinking about friendships, particularly how easily they seem to fade as we get older.

As I approached the playground, I heard children laughing.

There were two little kids, a boy and a girl, probably around five years old, chasing an older fellow around the playground. He was mostly bald and a little heavyset. A younger woman sat nearby on a bench, watching them.

I assumed he was their grandfather, but I really don’t know. He could have been their dad for all I know.

Whoever he was, he was having the time of his life. He was running around that playground like a kid himself, and those two children were loving every minute of it.

I kept walking, but I couldn’t get that scene out of my mind.

Here was someone who wasn’t just taking the kids to the playground and waiting for the afternoon to be over. He was right in the middle of the fun.

And it got me thinking about how I spend my own time with my grandsons.

What Else Could Be So Important?

I spend time with my grandsons. We go fishing, attend their football games, and do things together.

Recently, we spent a day having a picnic by the lake and doing a little fishing. I was completely involved in that day. My attention wasn’t somewhere else. I wasn’t thinking about what I’d rather be doing.

But I can’t say that’s always the case.

Sometimes I catch myself just going through the motions. I’m there, but I’m not entirely there.

Part of me is thinking about getting back to my own time.

And that raises a question I don’t particularly like asking myself.

I’m not talking about having responsibilities or needing an occasional afternoon to myself. Everybody needs time for their own interests.

I’m talking about those moments when I have nowhere important to be, nothing pressing to do, and still find myself acting as though someone is taking up my time.

Whose Time Is It Anyway?

Watching those children playing made me think about something else.

We spend so much time thinking about how valuable our own time is that we sometimes forget about everybody else’s.

Those little children weren’t concerned about what time it was. They weren’t thinking about tomorrow’s schedule or what needed to get done around the house.

They just wanted to play. And he was right there playing with them.

One day those children will be grown. Their interests will change. They won’t be running around playgrounds chasing him anymore.

Whoever he was, he was enjoying something that won’t always be available to him.

And so were those children.

I started thinking about how often we treat time with other people as an interruption.

We go out to dinner with someone, but our phone is sitting on the table in case a message comes through.

Someone is telling us something, but our mind wanders off somewhere else.

We glance at the clock even though we don’t have anywhere we really need to go.

We’re in their company, but we’re not giving them much of ourselves.

And I wonder how often I’ve done that without even realizing it.

Maybe This Is My Time

For years, I’ve had a habit of looking ahead. Looking forward to Friday, the weekend, a vacation, and eventually retirement.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about when my time would finally be mine.

But watching those children playing that Sunday brought up a question I hadn’t really considered.

What is my own time, anyway?

Is it only the time when nobody needs anything from me? When I can sit in my chair and do whatever I please?

Or is it also the time I spend fishing with my grandsons, talking with my wife, or sitting across the table from someone who wants to tell me about their day?

I’ve been treating those things as separate sometimes.

My time over here. Everybody else’s time over there.

But it’s all coming out of the same life.

I don’t want to reach a point where my grandsons have grown up and realize that I spent too many of those afternoons looking forward to having the house to myself.

I can’t get those afternoons back.

I don’t know who that fellow was, and I’ll probably never see him again.

But I’m glad I happened to walk past that playground Sunday.

He was just having fun with a couple of kids, and without knowing it, he made me take a good look at how I spend my own time.