Sunday morning I made the Costco run.

Same as most Sundays. In, out, back home, because there's a list behind it and the day is already out in front of me.

A run. That's what we call it. That's what I call most things.

Back in June I noticed Halloween going out on the floor and thought it was a little much. June. The pools had barely opened.

This morning Halloween was in full swing. Candy in bags the size of pillows. Skeletons for the lawn.

And a few aisles over, Christmas.

Ornaments. Bows. Wrapping paper. Boxes of decorations stacked to the ceiling in August.

So I stood there and did what you do. I started counting. If Christmas is out, Christmas is close. Which makes Thanksgiving closer. Which puts school right on top of us, and everything I have to get done between now and all of it came in at once, in an aisle, on a morning I had been enjoying until about four seconds earlier.

By the register I was carrying October, November and December around a warehouse store, and it’s still summer.

And somewhere in there the worry turned into an attitude, the way it does. Now I was just annoyed.

Three Months From Now

I've been trying to enjoy the days lately. Not just the big ones. The regular ones. The ordinary Tuesday. The hour on a Sunday when nobody needs anything from me.

And what I keep running into is that no matter how clearly you see how precious it all is, life keeps rushing you through it anyway.

Everything needed to happen yesterday.

Everything is coming up now.

I saw back to school displays before my kids had finished their last day of school. Before the last day. There's a machine behind that and I'm sure it works exactly as intended.

But the machine only works because of something in us it can reach.

If I don't get it now, it'll be gone.

If I don't start early, it won't be right.

That impulse dresses itself up as being on top of things. What it actually does is move me out of the room I'm standing in and into one three months away, where nothing is happening yet and nothing needs me.

It's not that we're short on time. It's that we keep spending it somewhere up ahead.

And the whole time, the thing we say we're doing all of it for is sitting right in front of us. My kids have about two weeks of summer left. They are not thinking about ornaments.

How Lucky Are We

And once our minds get out ahead of us, they rarely stop with ornaments.

We start thinking about everything coming next. What needs to get done. What we haven't figured out yet. The things that could go wrong. The things we need to be ready for.

Those things are real. There's always something coming.

But how lucky are we to have those problems while so much of what actually matters is still right here?

Our health. Our families. Our friends. Another Sunday morning. Two weeks of summer with our kids.

We spend so much time worrying about what might happen next that we can miss everything we already have right now.

That's what I was carrying through the store. October and November and a shelf of wrapping paper, while August was standing right in front of me.

Perspective always shows up eventually. I'd rather go get it myself, on an ordinary Sunday, while nothing is really wrong.

Two Weeks Left

I can't slow the machine down. The paper will be out in July next year and earlier the year after that. Never mine to fix.

But I can decline the invitation.

I can refuse to start Christmas in August. I can let the last two weeks of a summer be the last two weeks of a summer, and let my kids have them, and take them myself, and let the list wait until the list is actually due.

So…, go find whatever slows you down and go do that. The walk. The hike. The dinner nobody gets up from early. The movie where the phones stay in the other room.

Or a book, which may be the last thing left on this earth that flatly refuses to be hurried. It takes the hours it takes and there's nothing you can do about it.

And if you happen to need one..., I know of a novel coming out September 15th about the leaders we've all had, and what they do to us for better or worse, and what we bring home and set down at our own dinner tables at the end of the day.

I'll admit to a bias. I wrote it.

Leadership at the Dinner Table. Pre-orders are open, and I think you'll feel this one.

The ornaments will keep. Christmas has never once needed my help getting here.

There are two weeks of summer left.

Slow your roll. Enjoy what you have, and who you have, right in front of you.

Right now.

With Absolute Sincerity,

Ed Clementi,

Founder & CEO of Inspired Fire, LLC

Make an Impact and Feel an Impact!