Firsts and Lasts
You can't fall if you don't climb. But there's no joy in living your whole life on the ground.
When we’re born, life is filled with nothing but firsts.
First breath
First steps
First words
As we move into adolescence, life still seems like an endless experience of firsts. Many of these are modern day rights of passage into adulthood.
First car
First date, first love, first broken heart
First job, first paycheck, first promotion
First apartment
First mortgage
Most of the amazing things from childhood are still miracles. We breathe without effort. We walk without having to think about putting one foot in front of the other. But as we become adults, these things slip into the background and are taken for granted. Displaced by invincibility and a thirst for adventure.
Somewhere along the arch of our life, if we live long enough, we cross a threshold and begin to accumulate more “lasts” than “firsts.”
Our last day on the job as we move into retirement.
The last paycheck.
The last pair of shoes we’re likely every to need.
The last hike up to the summit of a mountain we used to virtually sprint up when younger, but now takes our breath away.
The last time we see family members and long-time friends as they pass from this world and we continue on.
Some of the “lasts” in life I won’t miss.
The last insufferable PowerPoint presentation.
The last car payment.
The last mortgage payment.
The last time on an airplane (and all the security theater that entails).
The last time I’ll ever wear a tie.
The last time I ever had to show my ID to buy a bottle of wine.
There are also some people I’m grateful for not having to ever deal with again, happily relegating them to a vast and indifferent vacuum of space where they no longer have the oxygen to influence in my life.
And then there’s the last breath.
For most of us the idea that we will eventually die is so remote we don’t even think about it. Grand parents die and we are sad - perhaps for mostly selfish reasons. But they were old and in poor health. “Death only comes to old people and I am forever young,” we console ourselves. The prospect of dying is such an abstract exercise it hardly registers as a concern.
I’ve thought about my own mortality from an early age. Growing up in a house with a father confined to a wheelchair since 1949 (polio) drives home the fact human bodies are fragile and that just about everything in the natural world is bent on our destruction.
Working my way through college as an orderly/aide in several nursing homes showed me what life might be like on the far end of my journey. Some of the people I helped take care of were - once upon a time - very prominent in local society. By the time I met them, they had been forgotten. The obligatory Christmas cards lacking personal notes were but reminders to them they existed on holiday mailing lists and not much else. Others had been “left behind.” The people and the times they had known were all in the past. There were very few left to remember them.
And the death of my first wife at a young age from cancer was an acute experience for how unexpected the sharp elements of fate can cut deep into plans.
Memento mori, indeed. Amor fati, because what choice does one really have?
These experiences gifted me a very clear picture of what time and chance can do to physical and cognitive health. With the long view in mind, I resolved to make the most of my youth and put in place some easy decisions about navigating clear of known sinkholes and cliffs, such as recreational drug use, drunk driving, and other reckless behaviors. The mis-match between life’s territory and the farcically inaccurate map in our heads is bad enough. No sense in dancing where we know there are dragons.
As I age, I intend to continue adding to the tally of firsts. And I intend to be much more deliberate and selective about how I do that. Looking back, too many opportunities to count were left on the table owing to competing demands, the weight of heavier responsibilities, or simple neglect and indifference. I don’t have “f**k you money“ so much as I have “no, but thank you” money. It’s enough to allow me to say “no” to a great many things I’d rather not do and say “yes” to the kinds of experiences that enrich my life and the lives of people I care for.
“Firsts and Lasts” last updated on 2025.12.09.
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Image credit: Mary Blackwey on Unsplash