SO MUCH TO DO AND SO LITTLE TIME

I found a list of "to do" items in a book I took from my brother Bill's office. This would not have been an event worth remembering, much less writing about, if it hadn't been for the fact that I got the book when we were cleaning out Bill's office after his death.

A "to do" list for a person who has died set me to thinking. Listed were items in Bill's hectic, get-on-and-off-an-airplane, take-a-taxi, check-into-a-hotel, make-a-difference-in-others-lives, check-out, get-on-an-airplane, and start-all-over-again world. These were activities he believed he needed to accomplish to make his life and the lives of those he touched meaningful. Bill was, when you sort through all of the descriptors, a teacher.

While he was my younger brother, I followed him into the world of improving organizational performance by concentrating on the fulfillment and growth of each individual. Granted, I may not be very objective for many reasons, but I believe Bill's work was important. Bill gave it everything he had and was darn good at it. He took his work and his life seriously (a family trait), so those "to do" items were to Bill a real commitment. But to see them in the context of life and death definitely put "9 a.m. meet with Dean" into perspective.

In the past I have shared with you my philosophy of life -- "We're born, we die, and in between we do something." As simple as this philosophy is to understand, it takes most of us our entire time here on earth to figure out what that "something" is.

When Bill was diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus (Warning: not taking consistent heartburn seriously may be harmful to continued life), we spent time together just talking. Talking about things other than business was something we hadn't done in years. (Warning: not taking consistent time out with someone you love may be harmful to who you are.) I had recently read an article in Reader's Digest on 50 things the author wanted to do before she died. I told Bill that I couldn't think of more than two or three things that I wanted to do. Bill felt the same way. This meant that we had either done everything (which we knew was not the case), or our "possibility genes" had atrophied.

Over time, when you take life too seriously, and your "to do" list gets too long, you close out all other possibilities. You're born, you work on your "to do" list, then you die. If you don't fancy that as your epitaph, what are you doing to change it? Because of some errant cells, Bill and Ardele lost a devoted son, Joan lost a loving husband, I lost my brother/friend and you lost -- Bill.

In his life he taught thousands of people how to work. In his death, he taught me how to live. Adios, my friend.


Lesson: If you don't live a life, you don't have a life.