A Year-End Reflection on Time, Gratitude, and What Truly Matters
As we come to the end of another year, it feels only appropriate to pause—not to rush ahead to resolutions or forecasts—but to take stock. To reflect on where we’ve been, where we are, and how we want to step into the year ahead.
Last month, while unpacking boxes after our move, I came across a letter I had saved. I don’t remember exactly when it first found its way into my hands, but rereading it now—at this season of life and this time of year—it stopped me in my tracks.
The letter was written in 2022 by Stephen Raub of San Antonio, and I want to give him full credit. It wasn’t written to make a point, sell an idea, or persuade an audience. It was written as a note to a friend. And perhaps that’s why it carries such quiet power.
There was nothing political in it. Nothing religious. Nothing divisive. Just honest reflection—gentle, human, and deeply relatable. I’ve edited it slightly for clarity and flow, but I’ve worked hard to preserve its heart, because its message feels especially fitting as we close one year and prepare to open another.
The Quiet Speed of Time
“Time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years.”
That single sentence says more than most books.
It seems like just yesterday we were young—starting careers, raising families, building lives, chasing goals, believing there would always be more time. And yet, in another way, it feels like eons ago. We look back and wonder, Where did the years go?
Of course, we know we lived them. We have memories—snapshots of hopes and dreams, of long days and short nights, of successes and disappointments, of plans that worked out and others that didn’t. We remember who we were, and we recognize who we’ve become.
But then comes the realization that often arrives quietly:
Here it is… the last quarter of life. And it catches you by surprise.
How did we get here so fast?
From the Front 9 to the Back 9
My firm is called Back 9, because so many people I’ve worked with—and walked alongside—have reached a stage where life begins to shift. The accumulation years gradually give way to something else. The questions change. The priorities evolve.
What Matthew Kelly articulated so well is this idea that life can be viewed as four quarters, each roughly twenty years long. By that measure, if you reach eighty, you’re not just finishing the fourth quarter—you’re in overtime.
It’s a helpful framework, not because it boxes life in, but because it wakes us up.
When we’re in the first quarter, the fourth feels unimaginably far away. In the second, we assume we’re still just getting started. In the third, we’re busy—often too busy to notice how quickly the clock is moving.
And then one day, we look around.
Friends are retired. Hair turns gray. Movements slow. Some are thriving; others are struggling. And we realize that we’ve quietly become the “older folks” we once looked at and never imagined ourselves becoming.
Not because we failed—but because we lived long enough for time to do what it always does.
Aches, Acceptance, and Perspective
One of the most endearing parts of Stephen Raub’s letter is its gentle humor.
“Each day now, I find that just getting a shower is a real target for the day.”
Many of us smiled at that because we understand it. There was a time when a shower was nothing. There comes a time when it’s a small victory.
Naps move from luxury to necessity. Aches appear without invitation. Strength isn’t what it used to be. And there are things we wish we had done—but didn’t.
That realization can either harden us or humble us.
The letter chooses humility.
It acknowledges regret—but it doesn’t live there. It also acknowledges gratitude. Because a life examined honestly will always contain both.
“It’s all in a lifetime,” the letter says.
And that might be the most realistic wisdom of all.
No Guarantees—Only Today
One of the most important reminders in the letter is this:
You have no proof, no promise, that you will see all the seasons of life.
That’s not meant to instill fear. It’s meant to inspire urgency—not frantic urgency, but intentional living.
If you’re not in the last quarter yet, it will arrive faster than you think.
So don’t put things off too long.
Say what needs to be said.
Do what needs to be done.
Love people well—now, not later.
Because the calendar is honest, even when we’re not.
“Thank You, Lord, for Another Day Not Promised”
There’s a simple prayer shared each Friday morning in my Bible study group by a retired general. It’s short. It’s unpolished. And it’s profound:
“Thank you, Lord, for another day not promised.”
There may be no better way to begin a day—especially on the Back 9.
That prayer reframes everything. It turns routine into gratitude. It turns time into a gift, not an entitlement. It reminds us that today is not owed to us—it’s entrusted to us.
Live in the moment.
Not recklessly. Not selfishly. But attentively.
What Truly Matters
Stephen Raub’s letter reminds us that health is real wealth, not pieces of gold and silver. Money has its place—it can provide comfort and opportunity—but it cannot buy peace, time, or presence.
It also reminds us to laugh a little at ourselves:
- Going out is good—but coming home is better.
- Forgetting names happens—but some people forget they even knew you.
- You may never master golf—but you enjoy the outdoors.
- Old songs. Old movies. Old friends.
And that last one matters most.
Old friends carry history. They remember who you were when you forget. They’ve seen you at your best and your worst—and stayed.
Gathering vs. Scattering
The letter closes with a line worth carrying into the new year:
“It’s not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived.”
Gathering is easy to measure.
Scattering is harder—but far more meaningful.
Time. Kindness. Wisdom. Encouragement. Love.
These are the things that leave a mark.
A Personal Note as We Close the Year
Last month, we moved from Boerne to Bastrop, not for more space or convenience, but for something far more valuable—more time with our grandchildren.
That decision came with clarity. Seasons change. Priorities sharpen. And you begin to understand that presence is one of the greatest gifts you can give—or receive.
As we step into the final days of this year, my hope for you is simple:
Live fully—right where you are, in whichever quarter you’re in.
Start each day with gratitude.
Say what matters.
Scatter generously.
And remember that life, even on the Back 9, is still a gift.
From our family to yours—
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays from the Zanders.
May the coming year bring health, peace, purpose, and many moments worth remembering.
David P. Zander
CFP Emeritus Board ™
dzander@back9pro.com
260-615-0078
