The Long View

The earlier I have kids, the more time they might get to spend with my parents, the more time I might have to spend with my grandchildren. I was close with my grandparents. I mean really close. They were a huge part of my life growing up, and I was the last family member to see all three of them alive. I saw the look in their eyes as they passed, and that moment left a mark on me.

I know that one day, that will be me. I’ll be the one whose eyes are closing, and I think about what I’ll want to see before they do. I hope I’ll get to meet my grandkids. I hope I’ll get to know them, root for them, and watch them find their way. There’s something deeply motivating, about that long view. It makes me want to build a life where there’s enough space for those connections to grow, where time can stretch a little further between the generations.

Sometimes I feel a sharp sadness when I think about my grandparents not being around to see what I’ve built so far. They were my first real believers not even expecting to see the payoff one day. All three of them passed right before there was anything material I could point to that might have made them feel proud in that conventional way—successes, stability, the kind of external markers that get celebrated. But deep down, I know that wasn’t what mattered to them. They were already proud. I was a kind, brave, creative, determined kid, and they noticed that before anyone else did.

Still, I carry both truths: gratitude for the love I had, and longing for just a little more time with the people who helped raise me. It’s why I try to pay attention now, to build a life that doesn’t race ahead of itself, and to create space for the kinds of relationships that matter most—the ones that make us feel, even for a little while, that time might slow down.