Time flies. That’s for damn sure. And that’s what I keep hearing from old friends and patients as I reach out to extend invitations to our 3rd (annual, but for Covid) GRATITUDE PARTY.
This one is married with two kids. That one’s boy has his eyes on high school. This one is doing ok…not great but rolling with the punches. Another beat cancer. This one is back out west. That one moved down south. And, for some rare specimens out there, like dust on the moon, nothing has changed. “Still truckin’,” they say.
Speaking of truckin’, I sometimes miss my days on the road. “Road doggin’”, as a buddy put it. Regularly seeing patients and dropping off the goods. Talking. Listening. At one time being an herbal pharmacist, delivery driver, confidant, therapist, and “the handyman, honey, who dad called to take a look at the pipes in the basement. (the cash is on the dryer).”
Some I’d see weekly, some maybe once a quarter. It was always good sitting down and catching up, even if I had another job to get to, a dog to walk, a house to build, etc.
Well, the house has long since been built. Then the greenhouses, then the shop. Then the greenhouses collapsed and a barn was put up. Two steps forward, one step back. Never standing still, never slowing down.
Until a few years ago. It’s hard to be a family man when you work every waking hour. And the waking hours just aren’t as productive when your farm is where you live and work and every time you go in and out of the house you have to pry off little hands connected to a little body saying, “mo dadda! mo dadda!”
Less productivity, for the right reasons, is a great thing.
One reason I have enjoyed and felt at home in the cannabis industry is the constant change. While the continual and often nonsensical modifications to the laws can be frustrating as hell, and keeping up with the industry slang can make a person feel like they might better belong in a retirement community in Florida (Wait, what? Budder? Badder? Sugar? Crumble? Rocks and sauce? Son, when I was your age, a dogwalker was a job, not a joint) the journey has kept me spry.
But as the years pass and the body is stiffer getting out of bed in the morning, realities are accepted. Realizations are had. When you are a farmer, you think in terms of seasons. Maybe we get that field cleared this fall. Maybe we get some animals next spring. Maybe I’ll get my tools organized by the time the kids are grown.
Like building a business and raising a family, growing a farm takes time. And speaking of time, that’s what I was talking about before I started rambling. I began writing this over a week ago, tapping out a sentence here and there in the early mornings before the kids woke up, before the workday began, before the texts started coming in.
Yes, time flies. So take advantage. Spend more of it with your family and friends. Enjoy the ride but also pull over occasionally to enjoy the view.
Stop and smell the roses, or whatever else you’ve got growing 😉