I stopped a high-speed car chase.
It was 1978, and I was driving my wife’s Pontiac Firebird. Blue, sporty, white interior. Classy, just like her.
The light turned green, and I started through the intersection – unaware of the police chase approaching from my left. The driver had stolen the car after robbing a liquor store, and ran the red light at about 50 mph.
He hit my driver’s door at that speed. My wife’s classy car was totaled, but I wasn’t scratched. The ambulance took me to the hospital for observation, but everything was fine.
People said, “Wasn’t it terrifying?” I replied, “Nope. I didn’t see it coming, so I didn’t have time to worry.”
Now, suppose that a week earlier, someone had accurately said, “Next Wednesday at noon, you’re going to be in a serious accident. Your car will be totaled, but you’ll be OK.”
I’d be terrified. I’d spend the whole week worrying about it.
Life’s like that. A lot of bad things happen to us. But we often put a lot of energy into what could happen, and we live in constant low-grade fear.
It’s good to set goals, and it’s wise to prepare for the future. But we don’t live in the future; we live in the present.
When we worry, we attempt to live in the future. We mortgage the present, missing the richness of life. We focus on protection and prevention, rather than the pleasure of the present.
A friend in Oklahoma said, “How can you live in California with all those earthquakes?”
I said, “Honestly, I’d be more afraid to live in Oklahoma with the tornadoes. You know they’re coming, so you live in dread for hours at a time. With an earthquake, you don’t know it’s coming. When it does, you deal with it. A few seconds later, it’s over – and if you’re still alive, you’re OK. There’s no anticipation or fear because you didn’t know it would happen.”
But some people live in constant fear of earthquakes. They’ve given up their joy in the present for the terror of the possibilities.
It sells a lot of insurance, but it’s a crummy way to live.
We need to be smart. We need to think through the things that could happen in the future, and take steps to prevent and respond.
But we don’t want to live there.
Author Leo Buscaglia wrote, “Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.”
Let’s give today our 100% attention. Make choices, savor the moments, build relationships and make a difference.
The future will be here soon enough. Live there when it comes – not before.





I think we’re a lot like water.
The Washington Post decided to find out. In 2007, they put Joshua Bell by the entrance to a subway station in Washington, D.C. Simply stated, he’s one of the best violinists in the world.
Two weeks ago, I posted ten questions to ask during dinner. We talked about how we sometimes just run out of things to discuss, and need a little catalyst. So the first ten questions were designed to get things started again.
Remember the dreaded 100-word essay? We might have only had 60 words to say, but we were graded on length. So we added 40 words of fluff. We learned that longer writing was better than shorter writing.
But every time a shovel of dirt hit the donkey, he shook it off and stepped up on the new layer of dirt. Over and over, he shook off the dirt and stepped up.
Maybe it’s because life happens, and it impacts us – so we talk about how we feel, and what it means between us.
It’s natural to focus on the person(s) who could commit such a crime, realizing the impact that person has on a nation. It’s true. We see what that one person did.
My friend Jeremy was a trainee at a large bank a number of years ago. As part of his training, they taught him the subtleties of conversation with customers.
One of the biggest sections was about leadership.
I remember him teaching me how to mow. We had an old, non-electric push mower that looked like it had been picked up in an antique store. I was small enough that I almost had to reach up to grab the handle.
If we feel like we have to go to the gym, it becomes something we dread. With that perspective, it takes every ounce of willpower to grab our shoes and get out the door. Then, we’re counting the minutes until it’s over.
Richard Swenson wrote, “If we were equipped with a flashing light to indicate ‘100 percent full,’ we could better gauge our capacities. But we don’t have such an indicator light, and we don’t know when we have overextended until we feel the pain. As a result, many people commit to a 120 percent life and wonder why the burden feels so heavy.
We’ve talked about doing it again. When I think about it, there’s not much stress. We’ve done it, and I know what to expect.
He did a little research, and found out that the neighbor had been busted a few months earlier. The yard was absolutely full of the illegal plant. Authorities cleared his yard, but some seeds were still in the ground.
But something happened to my iPhone. I’m not sure what it was, but the speed changed. Everything I listened to came through at twice the speed – so a half-hour podcast only took 15 minutes.
It feels good to accomplish something, so I stop and bask in that feeling. While I’m basking, I’m stagnant. It takes me a long time to pick something else and go through the process again.
Is there a point?
High-quality ingredients produce high-quality results.
Maybe it’s a co-worker who stabbed us in the back on their way to the top. Maybe it’s a close friend who betrayed us. Maybe it’s a spouse who damaged us with their choices.