It is said of Herbert Spencer that he “had the philosopher’s disease of seeing so far ahead that all the little pleasant shapes and colors of existence passed under his nose unseen.” Without calling myself a philosopher or claiming to have the gift of foresight, I might describe myself as having this affliction.

Sometimes it is difficult for me to enjoy the present as I think with angst about the future. The keener I imagine the inevitable, the blurrier my purpose for doing whatever it is that I’m doing becomes. I am often in danger of thinking so much about what I ought to do that I don’t do anything at all. I forget that what seems like a futile struggle against time is actually life happening, and that to opine about its futility, or to worry about its end, is to let it pass you by.

There’s a film called "Life in a day”—it’s a National Geographic feature where the makers of the film asked everyone and anyone from all over the world to send in their own video footage from one day, July 24, 2010, which—after much editing I’m sure—served as the final product (the film is only showing in select cities, but you can watch the trailer here). The concept of the film resonates with me in the sense that I regularly think about the incredible variety of life on earth, not to mention just within our own species. The sheer volume of human consciousness is overwhelming. The expressions of personality are innumerable. By the time a person reaches their 20s, I would wager that their thoughts alone could fill countless volumes. And this happens over and over, every second of every day. This is what life has allowed—a remarkable diversity of experience.

When I consider all of this—all the living that goes on while I’m sitting here, writing about it—I realize that it will not wait for me. The world will not cease to revolve while I try to determine why it revolves as it does. Society will not halt its progression for my ponderings about its ills. And my face will not stop aging because I stare at in the mirror to detect any signs of aging. There is simply no amount of anticipation that will change the inevitable facts of life.

When I finally reach death’s door, I don’t want to carry through it the burden of wasted time. I don’t want my last thoughts to be lamentations. I want to go out, like the great Francis Bacon said, “in an earnest pursuit, which is like one wounded in hot blood, who for the time scarce feels the hurt.”

In order to do that, I will have to learn acceptance where there was formerly neurosis and fear. I will have to learn patience where there was formerly not enough. And I will have to learn sacrifice where there was formerly no knowledge of such a thing.

I’ve a lot to learn.