Time Cashing Out
A story about mountains, two old strangers, and the courage to live before it's too late
We don’t know how much time we have left.
Not poetically. Not hypothetically.
Literally.
That fact alone should reshape how we live.
But for most people—especially here in North America—it doesn’t.
We live like time is renewable. Like our calendars refill themselves.
We chase goals like they’ll give us immortality.
We grind. Delay. Defer.
And one day we wake up wondering what the hell it was all for.
The Wake-Up Came Wearing Hiking Boots
It was late summer.
I was coming off a long, strenuous descent in the Dolomites—a place that’s as soul-stirring as it is humbling.
Just as the forest began to thin and the trail widened near the bottom, I caught up to two older gentlemen.
You could tell they were seasoned. The kind of guys who’d been hiking long before social media made it a performance.
One of them moved slightly slower. His friend—the faster of the two—kept behind him.
Not in a rush. Not pushing the pace.
Just... with him.
Any experienced hiker will tell you: that’s how you lead with respect.
I kept my distance, not wanting to crowd them. Besides, their back-and-forth banter was filled with the kind of old-world wisdom you can’t find in books. I couldn’t help but listen in.
Eventually, I struck up a conversation. It flowed easily—naturally—and before I knew it, we’d arrived at the foot of the trail. Turns out we’d all parked in the same lot. They invited me to join them for a drink at their motorhome.
I accepted.
It felt right.
“Who needs anti-depressants when you have this?”
That’s what one of them said as he lifted both arms to the mountains around us.
Not performative. Not profound for the sake of being profound.
Just true.
We were standing in the shadow of the Dolomites, surrounded by peaks that have outlived empires. His words didn’t need embellishment.
Then his friend—same age, more weathered—decided to share a story I’ll never forget.
The Poor Beast
Years earlier, he’d had a downhill skiing accident that shattered his pelvis and broke both legs. The kind of injury that, for most, marks the end of bold pursuits. The rehab, he said, was brutal. Slow. Frustrating.
When he finally made it to his follow-up appointment, he asked the doctor:
"Can I ski again?"
The doctor stared at him. Paused. Then asked:
"You already did, didn’t you?"
The man smiled sheepishly and nodded.
The doctor just shook his head and said:
"Go. Go, you poor beast."
I bent over laughing—hands on their motorhome, tears in my eyes.
They both smiled wide and almost in unison said:
"And laughter. One needs a lot of laughter in life."
This Is What Stays With Me
That conversation…
That moment of shared truth between strangers…
That parking lot in the Dolomites...
I could’ve stayed all day. Honestly.
Had it not been for a dinner reservation in town, I might’ve.
But here’s the beauty:
I still visit that moment. Anytime I want.
It’s etched in my memory—not because it was scheduled, or because I was “productive,” but because I was present.
What Are You Really Saving Your Time For?
North America teaches us to hustle.
To equate stillness with laziness.
To believe that success is measured by what we own, not how we live.
But I’ve met men who own very little and are rich in ways most people never touch.
Because they’ve figured out what most of us avoid:
Time isn’t a resource. It’s a gift. And the best way to honor it... is to spend it.
Not recklessly. But intentionally.
With people who make you laugh until your ribs ache.
In places that remind you how small and lucky you are.
Doing things that make you feel alive, not just employed.
You Don’t Need a Crisis to Wake Up
Most people wait until the diagnosis.
The breakdown.
The loss.
But the invitation to live differently is always there.
And if you’re paying attention, it’s often delivered through the kindness of strangers who’ve walked further down the trail than you.
So here’s what I’ll leave you with:
Don’t wait to prioritize joy.
Don’t rationalize away the trip, the phone call, the long walk, the laughter.
Don’t keep deferring your life until your knees give out.
Because time isn’t asking for your permission.
It’s just moving on—with or without you.
And if you’re lucky,
you’ll get to laugh beside a motorhome someday
with two old friends you just met,
and realize…
you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.