My friend John Otterness gave me a wonderful birthday present night before last.

He then died yesterday.

I’d picked him up at the cancer center and driven him to his home where the Hospice guy was waiting.

We maneuvered him into a reclining chair.

True to our entire relationship, John was giving to me the whole time, but it’s in that chair that I’ll remember it best.

It wasn’t what he said (he couldn’t say much), it wasn’t what he did (he didn’t do much but breathe), but it was in allowing me to see this great man, a big, strong, Texas man, be so graceful and well-spirited when he knew virtually every thing he did was the last time he’d do it.

He gave me the reminder that that chair is waiting for me.

Someday that will be me.

May be sooner, may be later, but one day I’ll be in that chair (or its equivalent).

So when later that night both my kids, at separate times, woke up and woke me up, I actually enjoyed it.

Because I knew I wouldn’t always be able to get up. Someday they’ll likely help me into a chair.

I doubt I’ll be able to hold that strong of a perspective on life all the time. (You know how when you’re sick you think you’ll never take being healthy for granted again, but then you do?)

But I’ll try.

And so one take away can be one of the core principles of the mental game:

Have a big picture vision of your target, of what you want in the future (what do we want to have for memories while we sit in the chair?) and then pour everything we’ve got into the present moment.

Focus on enjoying and competing on each of life’s pitches as if that chair was waiting for us.

Because it is.

Thank you, John.

Tom
Dr. Tom Hanson