There are many clichés associated with time and many wise sayings. Over the course of my life, I have paid little attention to them—many of us have heard them and ignored them. One of them that I am now paying very close attention to is another famous line which I now embrace – Quality not just Quantity,
The late great Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once wrote: “We can sometimes be so busy making a living that we hardly have time to live.” At various times in my life, this was written as if for me—always more meetings, always more flights. In fact, it took a diagnosis of Parkinson’s five years ago to prompt the first significant change on the topic, but still, things didn’t fundamentally shift.
The probable diagnosis of PSP—again, by no means definitive and would be so happy for it not to be the case—has started to shift things for me, not from a logical “pay attention” perspective but almost like emotional “jump leads” or “electric shock treatment.” It has caused a rewiring of the circuit board.
It has also led me to look back on “Times”—important moments—with huge fondness. It’s a bit like an in-house photo album: pretty much only happy moments are etched in my head, and I am grateful for the number of happy, memorable (and ridiculous) moments I have.
Suddenly, time feels much, much more important on two levels: the amount of time and the quality of the time.
What do I mean?
I don’t mean that I am some kind of angelic being who has had an epiphany—nothing like that. I am, in most ways, the same person I was, but the 5%, 10%, or 20% psychological change that has happened since internalizing the potential nearness of PSP has done two things.
Firstly, I have felt an overwhelming sense of the practical clock ticking. I simply need to get things done because waiting could genuinely “run the clock” on time—my wishes, various legal and financial matters, my desire to get an awareness campaign done. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, so it needs to be done fast!
Am I rushing? A couple of people have said so, but no—I am a father and a husband with responsibilities, and according to all statistics, it’s probable that within the next couple of years, I won’t be able to physically do it. It could be longer, but it could also be shorter. The sense of urgency is real.
And yet, it feels oddly and surreally calm, not rushed. I’m not panicking; I am perhaps more relaxed than I’ve been in a long time. Why? It’s not entirely clear, but I see and feel three things:
On one level, I have deliberately slowed work significantly to reduce stress and stopped driving, which is factually a massive factor.
To some extent, we all judge our situation according to expectations. Mine were heavily conditioned after five years with Parkinson’s, so it wasn’t like going from 0 to 100. Looking back, I have had the last five years to in many ways start preparing me for a different kind of future.
Most importantly, on an emotional and spiritual level, I think I am at peace with myself. I have planned for the worst, have had and still have real harmony, happiness, and a sense of meaning and fulfillment, and I hope and pray for the best—relative health for a long time and, eventually, dignity.
I am nothing other than a normal person. I look back with memories of missed opportunities, weaknesses I’ve had, and most of all, some terrible tragedies I wish my family and I hadn’t had to endure (some on a level that truly belongs in the realm of the insane). It certainly wasn’t all rose-tinted, but I do feel that. I don’t know how my Maker will judge me for the various pros and cons—and in that respect, I have work to do—but in my own little world, I feel I have, all said and done, had and still have amazing opportunities. I’ve been hugely blessed and privileged, and I have no regrets. I look back on a career, a life, and my first almost 50 years with a high degree of thanks to G-d and satisfaction. I also believe, right here and now, that my family and I have—and will have—the strength to come through whatever awaits us.
This is where I come to “Times.” I am looking forward to some special “Times”—moments—with my family and friends, whose strength, health, and success I pray for, as much as I ask people for prayers for me.
In short (or I suppose long), time is moving very fast but no longer with the “pressure” it carried for so long along my journey to date.
It’s a strange place to be, having a “heads up” way ahead of time that the store may be closing soon—or, more precisely, that it’s about to be very violently robbed. If I’d been asked 10–15 years ago what I’d feel at this point, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as content, calm, and relaxed as it is. I think it’s largely because I recognize that the length of time isn’t the only yardstick, but that the quality of the time and the beauty of individual moments are what count. I wish I’d had more, but I have nonetheless been blessed.
