I’ve been extremely morbid lately. More than I usually am, less in that adolescent angsty way and more in an estate-planning sort of way. 

I’m realising that time is so limited. “Money is everywhere, time is irreplaceable,” I told a friend the other day, in a conversation about negotiation. 

Say you get the green light for $10,000 in five minutes, would you spend another half hour negotiating for another $100? $200? How much are your hours worth?

My priority these days, when it comes to time, is family. There will never be enough time with them. 

Just the other day, I was thinking about how much time I have left with Jacob. As a small breed of dog, he probably has five to seven years left. (I’d like to say up to 10 years, and I’ve told him he should try to live that long. But I’m also a realist.)

I see him on average about once a week. Even if he lives seven more years, I’ll have a total of 364 days with him. That’s just about one year. It’s not enough. 

My hour with Jacob is worth more than $1000. For me these days, people trump productivity. 

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