I know only too well that it is only ever now. I have just this current moment, this very nano-second. Nothing else is guaranteed. The time is 05:35 on Friday 18 July 2025. I may not make it until 05:36. Yesterday, I renewed my Senior Railcard until July 2028; it was, on reflection, an act of foolish presumption.
The answer to the transience of the human condition is, then, to live in the moment, to be mindful, to nibble each raisin with deep intensity, inspired by the knowledge of my certain return to the eternal void from whence I came nearly 61 years ago.
Except I don’t want to live like a cat. When our beloved, aged, short-haired domestic Suki sits on the edge of the sofa staring at the TV, I often ask aloud, “I wonder what she’s thinking?” My wife’s answer is always, “Not a lot.” At the vet’s last week we discussed managing Suki’s end-of-life care, and the vet said that she would be fine: “She’s not like us. One minute she’ll be here, the next she’ll be gone. She won’t know a thing.”
Such ruminations have intensified recently. Today, my wife joins me as a retiree. Louise has taught since 1988. Her career has spanned five decades. She is a brilliant teacher. Though it sounds cliched, she was born to teach. I interviewed her recently for my latest book, and she ended our conversation by saying, “I've had a fantastic career. What else would I have done?” But now she has time on her hands, and the frankly frightening prospect of spending more of it with me.
One thing Louise won’t do is actually retire. When I speak at conferences, I often begin with the line I heard from Isabel Allende, the novelist, who, when she was still writing at the age of 80, would explain to those who thought she had retired that she had, “just retired from things I don’t like doing.” After a life of service to others, Louise will take her time to choose the things she wants to do to give her life meaning, rather than stand outside on duty in the rain on a wet Wednesday lunchtime in November.
One of the many things my wife is good at, is planning for the future. When I visited Melbourne recently, I packed my suitcase just before I went to bed the night before I flew. If it had been Louise going down under, she would have commandeered the spare bed a week in advance, laid out her suitcases, and made the same process a protracted event. She takes the deepest pleasure in anticipating the next thing. For her, anticipation is part of the experience.
Of course, everything is ultimately pointless. We make our own meaning through the significance we attach to what we do. As Hamlet so famously said, “Nothing is either good or bad but thinking makes it so.” And the point of life is to live it, to have something to look forward to, something to get you out of bed in the morning, no matter how small.
At 08:00 this morning I have a huge tennis match against my mate Mark. Later today my in-laws are coming over and tomorrow night we are hosting a party in Louise’s honour and our youngest is coming home. Sunday evening, I have another massive on-court clash with my friend Roy and the week after next we are off to Skiathos with our dearest mates. Louise has already got the suitcases out.
To hell with retired mindfulness – it’s 06:46! I’d better get a wriggle on…