He Just Does

 I know a man,

he's pushing eighty now.

But you'd never know it

by the way he lives.

There's still another adventure in him.

Another idea.

Another thing to build,

to try,

to figure out.

He's spent his life being a doer.

Not a talker-about-doing.

Not a planner of plans

for plans he might someday do.

He just... does.

And the funny thing is,

half the time

you don't even know he's doing anything.

He doesn't tell you,

“I've been thinking about this.”

He doesn't announce,

“Here's my next big idea.”

He doesn't ask ten people

what they think he should do.

He just gets on with his life...

and does it.

And then one day he says,

“Come here.

I want to show you something.”

And there it is.

Finished.

Built.

Bought.

Fixed.

Changed.

Done.

And you're standing there thinking,

When the hell did you do this?

Because he never told you

he was going to.

That's what I admire about him.

He'll tell you what he's done.

Oh, he'll tell you.

He likes showing you.

He's proud of it.

But he doesn't seem interested

in getting applause

for something that hasn't happened yet.

He doesn't need congratulations

for an idea.

He waits until the idea

has become something you can see.

And somehow,

through business,

through family,

through nearly eighty years of living,

things seem to work out for him.

Not because everything goes right.

I'm sure it doesn't.

But maybe that's the difference.

When something goes wrong,

he doesn't sit around

making a new plan

about the old plan

that didn't go according to plan.

He deals with it.

Then keeps going.

I've known plenty of dreamers.

People with great ideas.

People who can tell you exactly

what they're going to do next year,

next month,

next week.

And a year later...

they're still telling you.

But this man?

You never know what's coming.

You never know

what his next adventure is.

Because by the time you hear about it...

he's already living it.

And maybe that's why

I've always admired the doers.

Dreaming has its place.

Planning has its place.

But eventually...

you've got to get out of the chair.

You've got to stop telling everybody

what you're going to build.

And build the damn thing.

Stop talking about the trip.

Go.

Stop explaining the idea.

Try it.

Make the mistake.

Fix it.

Keep moving.

And when it's finished...

then call me over.

Then tell me the story.

Then show me what you did.

Because I've learned something

from watching this man.

A life isn't measured

by everything you intended to do.

It's measured

by the things you actually did.

And at almost eighty,

he's still not telling us

what he's going to do next.

We'll find out...

when he's done it.