In the blink of decade

It was a cold morning in January when Rajesh Sharma sat in his car at a red light, staring blankly at the blur of people rushing across the crosswalk. He adjusted the Bluetooth headset in his ear and checked his watch. Late for the 9 a.m. meeting. Again.

The city buzzed around him, each person a blur—moving, calling, typing, running. And so was he. For years, Rajesh had lived life like a sprint. At 35, he was already a senior executive at a top IT firm in Bangalore. A high-rise apartment, luxury SUV, frequent flyer status—he had it all.

But as the light turned green and the car inched forward, a billboard caught his eye. It read, “Slow down. You’re missing your life.”

He chuckled. Nice marketing, he thought, and accelerated.

---

Ten years earlier, Rajesh had been just a young software developer, full of ambition. He had married his college sweetheart, Neha, and they had a little boy, Aarav. Their days were filled with dreams, laughter, and late-night talks on their apartment balcony.

But soon, ambition took over.

What started as a few late nights at the office turned into missed dinners. Then came client calls during vacations, skipped birthdays, and a phone that never stopped ringing. Every success meant more responsibilities. Every promotion meant longer hours.

He told himself it was temporary. “Just until we’re financially secure,” he’d say.

Neha smiled and supported him. “Just don’t forget us while you’re chasing the world,” she’d whisper.

But slowly, the world became louder than her voice.

---

One Saturday afternoon, he arrived home early—a rare event. He opened the door expecting a cheerful welcome, but the house was unusually quiet. He walked in to find Neha sitting alone with a photo album.

“Where’s Aarav?” he asked.

“At a football match,” she replied without looking up.

He was puzzled. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve come.”

She looked at him for a moment. “Rajesh, he stopped asking you to come three years ago.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. He tried to defend himself. “You know how busy I am...”

She cut him off gently. “Busy is not a badge of honor, Rajesh. It’s a warning sign.”

That night, after she slept, he flipped through the photo album. He saw pictures of Aarav’s first bicycle ride, his school play, his science fair. In almost every photo, one thing was missing: him.

He’d been there physically, sometimes. But mentally? Emotionally? Absent.

---

Life had moved fast. Too fast.

The next morning, he woke up and didn’t reach for his phone. Instead, he made breakfast for the family. It wasn’t perfect, but Neha smiled.

“Trying something new?” she teased.

“Trying to remember what matters,” he replied.

He started saying no to meetings scheduled during family hours. He began walking Aarav to school once a week. They'd talk about superheroes, space, and sometimes, silence.

He wasn’t perfect. There were still missed calls, urgent deadlines, and client crises. But now, he chose where to draw the line.

---

One evening, Aarav handed him a card. It read: “Dad, thanks for showing up—not just at my games, but in my life.”

Rajesh fought back tears. That one sentence meant more than any award or bonus he had ever received.

He looked at Neha. “How did I not see it all slipping away?”

She squeezed his hand. “Because life doesn’t scream when it passes by—it whispers. You just have to slow down enough to hear it.”

---

Now, at 45, Rajesh lives differently. He still works, still earns, still dreams—but he’s no longer racing against time. He’s walking with it.

He once chased success thinking it would bring happiness. Now, he knows happiness is being present in the moments success can’t buy: family dinners, Sunday laughs, bedtime stories.

---

Moral of the Story:

Life is fast. It won't wait for you to finish that one last project, attend that one last meeting, or send that one last email. Before you know it, your children are grown, your spouse is distant, and your reflection in the mirror feels like a stranger.

The race for more—money, promotions, recognition—can blind you to what you already have. Pause. Look around. Listen.

Because in the blink of a decade, everything can change. And sometimes, you won’t get a second chance to rewind.