“When your hourglass runs out of sand
You can’t flip it over and start again
Take every breath God gives you for what it’s worth.”
 
Don’t blink.
  
Those are words from Kenny Chesney’s 2007 country ballad Don’t Blink. The song tells the story of a younger man’s encounter with a 102-year-old man who was being interviewed on the news. The interviewer wants to know the older man’s “secret to life” and the older man responds with “don’t blink.”
 
Don’t blink.
 
The year was 1998. I was a 20-year-old rising junior at Loyola University Maryland and had just been elected Student Government Association president. One of my first meetings on campus in that “official capacity” was with a dynamic 27-year-old administrator named Terry Sawyer, who had just been hired as Special Assistant to the President for Government and Community Relations.
 
Given my early career interests in public affairs, I knew I could learn a lot from him. And I was right.
 
Twenty-four years later, almost to the day, I returned to Baltimore last night to be present for Terry Sawyer’s inauguration as the 25^th president of Loyola University Maryland.
 
Don’t blink.
 
It’s a call to slow down as much as it is a call to stay present.
 
Time moves fast and in recent years, it’s felt especially squishy. It’s easy for me to forget what day it is, how old I am, and what I made for dinner the night before last. Silly, but true. More importantly, I feel this ever-present tug that my time here on Planet Earth is limited, and therefore I try to “squeeze in” as much as I can.
 
I walk fast. I read three different books at one time. I always have a to-do list. Always.
 
Don’t blink.
 
But during this Mental Health Awareness Week, I’m wondering if I misinterpreted the line. What if blinking, long enough to actually reflect on life as we’re living it, can help us stay fully present in the moment?
 
Last night, as I sat in the back of a ballroom listening to Terry talk about how he had landed his dream job (“Not as a university president,” he said, “but as president of Loyola University”) I was reminded of our very first conversation, 24 years ago.
 
As if it were yesterday.
 
Sometimes going, going, going makes great sense given the work we do and the passion we have for what lies ahead, but slowing down to savor the gift of time is equally important.
 
So, blink. Take a pause. Catch your breath. Consider your own history, which is playing out around you in real time. And go into this day knowing that while you can’t slow down time, you can decide to be present for the ride.

This is week 40 of the Finding The Words column, a series published every Wednesday that delivers a dose of communication insights direct to your inbox. If you like what you read, we hope you’ll subscribe to ensure you receive this each week.