"Seven minutes and nineteen seconds left in the third quarter.”
For football fans, this will immediately conjure up a readily identifiable quantification of time. Time past, and time remaining.
This is where I am, roughly speaking, assuming I didn’t screw up the math (a distinct possibility).
I’m a little over halfway through the third quarter.
Not time to panic, not even close… but time to consider some substantive adjustments to the game plan if I’m behind on the scoreboard.
The calculation is fairly simple, if overly simplified to keep the math easy, based on a life expectancy of 80 (Ps. 90:10), each 20 year period representing one fifteen-minute quarter. A ten year old may be said to be “halfway (seven minutes and thirty seconds) through the first quarter.” An 81 year old, a few minutes into overtime.
At age 52 years, two months and several days, I am little over a minute and a half past halfway through the third quarter.
So the question now becomes… and I leading? Or trailing?
The analogy breaks down somewhat, of course. Football games rarely end as abruptly as life can. While individual players may on rare occasion find their games cut short by injury, the whole game is not generally subject to event-ending medical emergencies, accidents, etc. I’m well aware of the significant likelihood of not making it to exactly age 80, kicking the bucket just as “time expires.”
But as a relative measure, taking note of being well past halftime can be an impetus for “checking the score.”
I’m certainly not getting blown out. I’m not catastrophically, or even chronically, ill. I’m not in jail or in the depths of some debilitating substance addiction that is keeping me gutter-bound and homeless. I’m not third-world destitute. I’m gainfully employed at a relatively well-paying, stable job. I’m a reasonably intelligent college graduate considering grad school. I’m married to a wonderful woman, have a total of five kids and step kids, all living in warm, safe homes. I have a few close friends and a couple of hobbies I enjoy. My problems are first-world: The grocery store is out of my favorite chips; my truck has some annoying electrical issues; I walked a couple of significant blisters on my feet two Sundays ago while hiking a local urban park.
Likewise, I’m not blowing anyone out, either, like, say, the Falcons were at a comparable time in Super Bowl LI. I’m not wealthy, overtly talented, or powerful. I’m not famous for anything, even in this ridiculous age when it seems all you need is a webcam and a YouTube account; “famous for being famous.”
The “score,” whatever it is, isn’t lopsided.
Which begs the question: What is the “score?” And what does that even mean? How does one “score” one’s life?
Far greater minds than mine have contemplated such questions, and I’m certainly not going to stumble upon the definitive answer in an obscure little blog post. In fact, there likely is no one answer. How well each of us “does life” is as unique as we are.
But for me, a little prudent coaching probably means a few adjustments to the game plan. I should get serious about school if I’m going back at all. I’m a little overweight and a little out of shape. There are a few things my diet would probably be better off without, especially to increase my odds of making it to “0:00.” I should be making my retirement calculations more specifically and realistically. I should be making more disciplined financial choices. I should be investing in the relationships that matter, divesting any that don’t.
And there is hope. The score isn’t final yet. Just ask the Patriots.
Maybe I should start by simply getting out from behind this keyboard and………….
