The Days Are Short and the Years Are Shorter
I have been struggling with seeing the moments fly by.
Last week I guest-lectured at Georgetown about Independent Sponsors and Middle-Market M&A.
My 9-year-old begged to come (again), so I pulled him out of school, and in the car ride over he threw on a clean polo and blazer and inhaled the snacks I packed.
Walking on campus to the venue, I reached down and held his hand. I was struck by how big his hand was. I remembered the first time I brought him to speak with me, he was 4 years old. I had held his hand back then, and it was so tiny.
I looked down at him and realized, he is starting to transform into a man. His muscles are like little rocks, his face is changing, and his shoulders are broadening. He chooses his own haircut and has his own opinions.
He comes up to my chest now and still looks up at me, but soon he’ll be at eye level with me. Then, standing side by side, then I’ll be sitting in the audience watching him speak.
I’m not ready for it, I have so much left to teach him.
I look down at him holding my hand and remember what people have said to me, the days are long, but the years are short.
During those short years, I have dedicated so much time to my career. I spent endless days and nights at the office. I watched his first steps and heard his first words on recorded video.
I held his hand tighter. I don’t want the years to be short. I try to take a snapshot of this time with him, so I can keep it forever, but it just doesn’t work.
On the car ride home, he positions my arm next to him, puts his head on my forearm, and falls asleep.
I look down at his head and realize, it is not true that the days are long, but the years are short.
In reality, the days are short and the years are short.
I squeeze his hand and try to make the days a little bit longer
.