I sat at my desk, struggling to stay awake.
It was just past lunchtime. The early morning adrenaline had worn off. The food I’d consumed had yet to digest.
My eyelids felt heavy, and I was tempted to let them fall. But I couldn’t.
For I was on the clock. There was work to be done and meetings to attend. A snooze wasn’t in the cards.
I thought back – way back – to my days in Pre-K. Right around this time of day, the teachers would set up mats on the ground. I’d lie on a mat until a wave of drowsiness came over me. Then I’d descend into a peaceful slumber.
I really had it all back then, I thought.
But that statement was nothing more than a delusion.
In the late 1980s, audiences went wild for a movie called Big.
In the film, a 12-year-old named Josh ambles up to a fortune teller machine at an amusement park. Josh makes a solitary wish. He asks the machine if he could be big.
Josh wakes up the next day appearing like an adult, even though he is still a boy. This disconnect leads to a series of adventures tailor-made for Hollywood.
Many people consider Big to be an iconic movie. And I am one of them.
Although though I first encountered the film years after its release, I still found it resonant. Particularly the scene with the fortune teller machine.
You see, I remembered a similar moment in my own childhood. Only mine didn’t appear at an amusement park. It came during naptime.
Yes, each day, as I lay down on a mat in my Pre-K classroom, I had but one thought.
I can’t wait until I don’t have to do this anymore.
I was through with being patronized.
I wanted to ride in the passenger seat of the car. I wanted to be able to drink a beer. I wanted to be able to sit on the back patio, talking with houseguests late into the evening.
These were all things I saw my parents do. But I they were off limits to me.
I was stuck in the car seat buckled into the back row. I was stuck drinking Coca-Cola – if my parents let me have a soda at all. I was stuck with that 8 PM bedtime.
And I was separated from my parents for most hours of the day. Sequestered in a Pre-K classroom, with a mandatory afternoon nap.
I knew deep down that this arrangement wasn’t eternal. Someday, it would all be different.
But I was sick of waiting for someday to come. So, each afternoon, I spent naptime longing for my future.
Yes, my wish was the same as Josh’s in Big. But the results were far less instantaneous.
My mind was still deep in my past when my head bumped softly against the desk. Despite my best efforts, the urge to nap was winning.
I felt a stiffness in my neck and a strain in my lower back. I couldn’t even rest these days without risking injury.
My desire to pile into Doc Brown’s DeLorean was never stronger. I wanted to go back in time and shake my 4-year-old self into submission.
You fool! Stop complaining! Some of us would dream of being you!
But that would be disingenuous.
Truth be told, some of what the younger me yearned for was worth the wait. Finding my way to the passenger seat of the car was enthralling during my pre-teen and early adolescent years. Staying up late and drinking beer were exhilarating during my first years on my own in the real world. (Although I kicked both habits not long after that.)
And adulthood, for all its flaws, has proven to be a worthwhile destination. I cherish the freedom and control I now possess. It’s everything a young boy dreamed of, and more.
So why was I now yearning to go backward with the same fervor that my earlier self yearned to go forward? Did I miss the turn for utopia somewhere between then and now? Or was that destination never even on the map?
The second explanation seems more likely.
I never really had it all. Not in the way I imagined.
How could I?
I’ve been in flux for all my decades on this earth. My body has evolved. My mind has expanded. My priorities have shifted.
The world has also shifted over time. Trends have come and gone. Opportunities have opened and closed. Possibilities have appeared and vanished.
To have it all, I’d need to hit a moving target – all while I was myself in motion. That would be a tough feat to manage, let alone sustain.
I need to give myself some more grace for missing the mark. More than that, I should be grateful for such an outcome.
So must we all.
In 2005, Tom Brady sat down for an interview on 60 Minutes.
Brady had a lot going for him at the time. He was in his late 20s, he was dating a Hollywood actress, and he had already won three Super Bowl championships as the New England Patriots quarterback.
Some would say that Tom Brady had it all. But he wasn’t saying that.
When the interviewer asked which championship ring was his favorite, Brady calmly stated The next one.
Yes, despite all his accomplishments, Tom Brady was on a mission. A mission to get more out of himself and his team. A mission to expand his excellence.
The results of that mission are now legendary. Brady played 18 more seasons after that interview. He broke the National Football League’s all-time passing yards record. He won the league’s Most Valuable Player award three times. And he appeared in seven more Super Bowls, winning four of them.
If Brady had stopped and smelled the roses, would he have become the greatest American football player of all time? Maybe. But I doubt it.
That continual quest for the missing piece was what made Tom Brady Tom Brady. It gave him the motivation and discipline to doggedly pursue excellence – even as he started to line up against defenders half his age.
Brady refused to let time or circumstance define him. He was the one taking control of the narrative.
It’s a lesson we’d all be wise to follow.
For while might not spend our days evading 250-pound linebackers, we will undoubtedly contend with the disruptive forces of life. What it gives us and what it takes from us along our journey.
If we try to solely corral what’s been given to us, we’re condemned to disappointment. We’re bound to be bitter about the sins of our past, the barrenness of our present, or the hopelessness of tomorrow. Maybe even all three.
But if we stop searching for utopia – if we let go of the illusion of having it all – we just might make the most of the duality in our midst. We just might roll with the punches and bring continual improvement to our lives – no matter the circumstances.
This is a path worth following. This is a destination worth pursuing. It’s on us to take the first step.
We never had it all. And thank God for that.