A lot of big, tragic and important things have happened to this wonderful country of ours since April 2014. None of which I have covered. I was too busy writing about hungover parenting, ancient philosophy and my dog Colin.
Out of the 536 columns I have written, 27 were about that guy. Far too few. He is such a good boy, he deserves an article a week.
Today is the end of an era for me, and whenever these final events pop up in our lives, we can’t help but think about the ultimate end.
Everything we do, we will one day do for the last time. That’s why you have to enjoy things while they are around. It’s not just big events like leaving a job, house or loved one either. Whatever moment you happen to be in now, you will never get it back, and you don’t know how many more you have.
Everything we do in life, from eating pizza to spending time with the people we love, to driving, writing, drinking or breathing, we will one day experience for the final time. It might happen tomorrow. This can be either a depressing or an inspiring thought, depending on how you look at it.
A few years back in this column, I interviewed professor of philosophy William B Irvine, of Wright State University, Ohio, on this very topic. He put it this way on a Zoom call: “Recognition of the impermanence of everything in life can invest the things we do with a significance and intensity that would otherwise be absent. The only way we can be truly alive is if we make it our business periodically to entertain thoughts of the end.”
Today’s column is very meaningful to me because it is my last. Like the last night with a lover before she goes overseas. And just like a lover, there have been some half-arsed efforts put in from me over the years. Last week, for example, I spent 750 words moaning about how bad my cricket team is. But the truth is that any of my columns could have been the final. If I had reminded myself every week for the past 10 years that the end is inevitable, I may have been more grateful for having a column and appreciated writing them all as much as I am this one.
While everything we do could have more meaning with a focus on finitude, some things are inherently more worthwhile than others. There is no doubt my column “The pros and cons of wearing Speedos” from November 2022 was less meaningful than most things in this world. That was a waste of everyone’s time. So, if we only have so much time, how do we pick the best things to do?
Well, Oliver Burkeman, the author of Four Thousand Weeks – Time Management For Mortals, suggested this to me in a 2022 column: “Ask yourself, does this choice enlarge me? You usually know on some unspoken level if it does. That’s a good way to distinguish between options.”
With that in mind, I don’t feel great about my 2018 article on “New Zealand’s best hole”. That didn’t enlarge anyone.
There will be people reading this column right now who have loved my writing in the Herald and are sad to see it end. Others will have hated it and are glad to see me go. Many won’t have any opinion at all. But for those in the first camp, I have good news. I have a book coming out on May 28 called A Life Less Punishing – 13 Ways To Love The Life You Got (Allen and Unwin Book Publishers). It’s a deep dive into the history, philosophy and science of not wasting our time lost in anger, loneliness, humiliation, stress, fear, boredom and all the other ways we find to not enjoy perfectly good lives. It’s available for pre-order right now (google it if you’re interested).
A Life Less Punishing took me two years to write and is equivalent in words to 100 of these columns. Which would be a complete nightmare for those in the hate camp, but as I say, great news for those who want more.
Anyway, thanks to the Herald for having me, thanks to the lovely people who make an effort to say nice things to me about my column nearly every day and thanks to the universe for every single second we get.
Bless!
My Boss Terminated Me for Wearing Thrift Store Attire – My Colleagues Came to My Defense and Delivered a Powerful Lesson
When the company owner barged in and abruptly fired me for wearing second-hand clothes, my world imploded. Little did I know, my co-workers were planning an act that would turn everything around and emphasize the true strength of our workplace community.
Never did I think that buying clothes from a thrift store would cost me my job. But life’s full of surprises, especially when you’re a single mother struggling to make ends meet.
It began like any other Tuesday morning. I was at my desk, taking calls and welcoming clients with my usual cheer. The office buzzed with its routine hustle — keys clacking, printers working, and the aroma of fresh coffee in the air.
Kate from HR peeked around the corner. “Hey Claire, how are the kids?”
“Oh, you know,” I chuckled. “Sophie’s engrossed in her science project, and Noah’s set on memorizing every dinosaur name.”
Kate smiled. “Sounds like you have your hands full.”
“Always,” I said. “But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
Just then, the elevator chimed. The doors opened to reveal a familiar face I hadn’t seen in over a year — Victor, the company owner.
Panic surged through me. I quickly stood, smoothing my thrift store blouse. “Good morning, Mr. Harrison! Welcome back!”
Victor’s eyes narrowed at me, his expression hardening. “What are you wearing?”
I glanced at my outfit, puzzled. “I — ”
“Is this how you present yourself to our clients?” he demanded loudly. “In these… these rags?”
The office fell silent, every eye on us.
“Mr. Harrison, I — ”
“No excuses,” he interrupted. “A receptionist’s attire should reflect our brand. You’re terminated. Leave immediately.”
My world spun. “But sir, I’m a single mom. I can’t — ”
“Out!” he shouted. “Now!”
Tears stung as I gathered my belongings. Kate tried to intervene, but Victor silenced her with a glare.
The drive home was a blur. How would I explain this to Sophie and Noah? How would we survive? I unlocked our apartment door, and there they were — my little warriors.
Sophie instantly knew something was wrong. “Mom, what happened?”
I hugged them close, the smell of grape juice and play-doh soothing me. “I lost my job today, sweethearts.”
Noah hugged me tighter. “It’s okay, Mommy. We still love you.”
I stifled a sob. “I love you too, munchkins. So much.”
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