We’re pretty good at keeping score.
We count the money in the bank, the years on the job, the square footage of the house, and the names in our phone. We watch numbers rise and fall and let them tell us whether we’re moving forward or falling behind.
Somewhere along the way, it gets easy to confuse what can be counted with what actually counts.
The older I get, the more I believe that knowing what is important may be one of the hardest parts of living well.
Life is loud. The urgent thing is always waving its arms, demanding attention. There is another deadline, another bill, another meeting, and another opportunity we’re afraid to miss. We stay busy responding to whatever is directly in front of us, then wonder why the people and things we love most keep receiving whatever is left.
Important things are usually quieter.
Faith does not always shout. Family does not always demand an appointment. A friend may never say he needs a phone call. A child may not know how to explain that he needs our time more than anything we can buy him.
Meaningful work rarely announces itself with applause. More often, it looks like showing up again, keeping your word, and caring well for whatever has been placed in your hands.
Knowing what is important does not make every decision easy. It gives us something steady to measure those decisions against.
It helps us recognize when more money is not worth less peace. When another commitment is taking too much from home. When winning an argument matters less than protecting a relationship. When success on paper is costing us something that cannot be replaced.
Sometimes we know exactly what matters, but we still fail to give it our attention. We tell ourselves there will be more time after this deadline, this season, or this next big push. Then the calendar turns, the children grow, our parents get older, and another year disappears.
That is the part we do not like to admit. Knowing what is important is only the beginning. We also have to protect it.
That may mean saying no to something good so we can say yes to something better. It may mean putting the phone down, leaving work on time, or making the drive to see someone we have been meaning to visit. It may mean returning to church, repairing a friendship or finally having the conversation we have avoided.
It also reminds us that an ordinary life can be a deeply meaningful one.
“It also reminds us that an ordinary life can be a deeply meaningful one.”
You do not need a title to lead. You do not need a platform to influence people. You do not need public recognition to leave a mark on your town.
Sometimes a legacy is built behind a counter. Sometimes it is built at a kitchen table, in a classroom, on a jobsite or in the cab of a truck. It grows through a thousand small decisions to be present, dependable and decent.
Most of those decisions will never be noticed while we are making them. But they count.
The cover story in this issue brought that truth back into focus for me. Peyton Turk did not set out to become the subject of a magazine profile. In fact, he would probably prefer that we keep the attention somewhere else. But his story raises a question worth carrying into our own lives:
Does the way we spend our days reflect what we claim is important?
It is an uncomfortable question. That is probably why it is a good one. We cannot give our best attention to everything. We can only decide what deserves it. Then we have to live in a way that proves we meant what we said.
As you read Peyton’s story, I hope you will think about the people, places and responsibilities that have been entrusted to you. Not the loudest things. Not the things that look most impressive from the outside. The things that truly matter.
And when you finish, I would like to hear from you. Send me a message and answer this question:
What is one thing in your life you have decided is important enough to protect, even when something else has to give? Message me on social media or email [email protected].
Tell me what it is and why it matters. Your answer does not have to be polished or profound. It just has to be honest.
A good life is not necessarily the biggest one, the busiest one, or the one that attracts the most attention. It is a life spent caring well for the right things.
That’s important.
This issue’s cover story, Peyton Turk: A Destination, Not a Chore, is the piece that prompted this column. For more from this issue, read Frank Addington Jr.’s BetterMENt: The Art of Style and Officer Jeffrey Wilson’s story in Grounded in What Matters. For more from the Publisher’s Note archive, read The Signature We Leave.
