TBW and I took a friend last night for his first visit to Costco. Our friend spent the last 15 years in prison, so has been denied the shopping delight that is Costco. He was astounded by the great selection of organic foods and the low prices. We bought enough food to make it through a snowy PA winter (which I’m hoping to avoid since we just started footings this week on three projects).

As we loaded our prizes into the car, the young fellow in the next vehicle started talking about his wonderful weekend attending a Pittsburgh Steelers game. He exuded that it was the best night of his life. I kept my smartass answer to myself…that the best night of my life didn’t include football.

But as we drove out of the lot, my friend pondered the best night of his life. Having grown up in urban poverty with a regular diet of abuse, he simply couldn’t recall a best night of his life. With much of his life spent in prison, he wondered about best times. He could recall exciting times, but not best times.

I could probably describe 50 possible contenders for the best night of my life. I recalled when TBW and I ate at a little shack of a restaurant in the rain forest on an island off Puerto Rico. We celebrated an anniversary, almost alone in the restaurant, with a variety of old Paul Simon songs playing in the background…songs from our early days. We reminisced and laughed and glowed in our love. I surprised myself with how much joy I could recall in an instant.

My friend recalled a most exciting time. He was in a parking lot, having just picked a fight with one guy which quickly turned into four guys. He was taking lots of shots, but giving some good ones as well, when he saw a pistol. He grabbed the forearm that held the pistol and bent and twisted with all his might. But he just couldn’t break that arm and get that pistol dropped. He was taking lots of punches to the face, but knew they were insignificant compared to what bullets would do.

As he told the story, he roared with laughter as he recalled an old neighbor lady rushing toward him, shooting her .22 pistol in the air yelling, “Let him go. As the Lord’s my witness, I’ll shoot ya. Let’m go.” The other guys all ran at the sight and sound of this wild old woman rushing them, shooting and yelling.

So I guess this is my Christmas season post, contemplating the end of the year and the meaning of existence. If you’re like most folks in construction, it’s been a rough year. With less margin in every aspect of the business, things just get more intense. That’s the circumstance in which we find ourselves.

I dare you to raise your head and look beyond your circumstances, to consider what really matters most in your life. Every elderly person I’ve ever talked to has agreed that life goes by so quickly. Please don’t waste all your time and treasure on rubbish. Don’t confuse excitement for joy. Put forth the effort to learn what will bring you joy and take steps in that direction.

I’m starting to work on my plan for 2012 now. In recent years I’ve spent less time making an annual plan and I’m ready to get back to that effective habit. I like dreaming about what I should do and then tracking whether I accomplish my goals. We only get this one life, but if invested well, that should be enough.