This past weekend, I purchased a lot of airline tickets. It just so happened that I found good prices for all the places I need, err, want to go over the next six months. After dropping that amount of money in a matter of minutes, I was feeling a little guilty. A little, uhhh, financially irresponsible.
I reasoned that the savings was something that a) I worked very hard for and b) would replenish soon with a tax return and by minding my budget. Heh, well, mostly minding it anyway. Still, I wasn’t feeling great. I mean, what kind of person goes and schedules not one, not two, but THREE coastal/beach vacations within the first six months of the year? Obviously, this kind of person.
After giving my chunk of change to the airline industry, I wrestled for the remainder of the weekend back and forth over what I’d done. No, I couldn’t take it back but that doesn’t mean I could allow myself to feel completely good about it. This is what you save for. But the money could go somewhere else. You do share your money. And you share your time. You’re young, you need to have fun. You’re young, you need to plan. Don’t worry, you have travel insurance. And you have a retirement account, several. And mutual funds, don’t forget the mutual funds! But maybe you could have helped someone else out. This is what it’s like to live in my head.
Then, I came into work Tuesday and opened an email that read something like this:
It is with great sadness that I inform you of the passing of one of our fellow employees. Mary Jones died Saturday at her home. Mary worked for our organization for over twenty-five years and had recently retired on November 30, 2006. Funeral service and donation information to follow as soon as it becomes available.
Over twenty-five years. Retired six weeks. She wasn’t sick. Children, grandchildren. Travel plans with her husband. Plans to sit back and really enjoy life. I heard all this from other employees, employees closer to Mary than I. And now, there was nothing. She’s gone, there are no plans.
I’m often unsure of what there is to learn from death. I struggle so much with making any sense of it at all. Faith and logic only go so far, when someone’s six weeks into retirement, “the best time of life,” and it’s all gone in an instant. How can you make sense of that, sense of no guarantees? Is there anything to learn?
I have a hard time really knowing the answer to those questions. I probably always will. But little by little, and each unfortunate time I have to be reminded, I think I might know a little more. I might be a little closer to the answer. And yesterday, when I sat back down at my desk and thought about the dramatic depletion of my money over the past weekend, I didn’t feel that guilt anymore.
While I know that saving and planning for my future is important and a priority, it’s not the only priority. We also have to plan for right now. We have to allow ourselves to live right now and take advantage of those opportunities that may deplete our bank account, but will also fill our lives. Fill our souls, even, if we let it. That, I think, might be the only guarantee there really is.
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