Once in a Lifetime — Before It's Too Late

Bill sat at the front of my desk in his crisply pressed shirt and bow tie, holding his yellow legal pad and mechanical pencil.

"It's a regatta down to South America and back. My wife and I are sailing to Tierra del Fuego." His eyebrows lifted in expectation and a smiled formed on his freckled and ruddy face. "It will take six weeks, if all goes well," he said.

I gulped. Six weeks! Vacation days offered to management at the school district were generous but nobody ever took them at once. There was an unspoken ethos of working more than your allotted eight hours. It was a badge of honor to have unspent days at the end of the year.

I was a few weeks into my newly appointed position as a division head in the Los Angeles Unified School District. As a child of Chinese immigrants, I had always believed in hard work and achievement and felt that I had reached the pinnacle of my career. Anxious to please my superiors, I worried what they would say if I approved his request.

"I cleared it with my previous supervisor before she retired," Bill said. 

I didn't want to burst his bubble. "I don't know. That's such a long time."

"I know, but this is something I have dreamed of for so long. It's a once in a lifetime trip."

Could I spare him for six weeks? Bill handled district assessments for students. He established testing schedules, selected items for the tests and negotiated contracts with vendors. He fielded calls from over 800 schools, addressed complaints from teachers about too much testing and answered questions from the Superintendent who wanted more accountability.

I was impressed with his competence as he responded to inquiries in his unruffled manner. It didn't matter if it was 4:45 in the afternoon or if I needed an answer in twenty minutes. "Not a problem," he would say, "Cheers!"

Bill was older than me, in his late-50s, with a receding hairline and stout stature. I knew he lived on his boat in Marina del Rey and loved to sail. I always wondered how he kept his shirts wrinkle-free on his boat.

I looked away from his hopeful face and out the window. From the 21st floor, cars inched along the sprawl of freeways below. The sun was setting and the green hills to the east were cast in a pinkish glow.

I thought about my husband who was felled by a heart attack and brain injury just four years earlier. At age 47, he was now disabled and no longer able to work as an attorney. He couldn't pursue any of the dreams he once had.

"Work hard, play hard," had been his motto. Each year, he had planned spring vacations with me and our two boys. "Why wait until we get old?" he always said. "Let's live it up now." We hunted seashells off the coast of Georgia, camped in the Sierra Nevada and snorkeled off the coast of Belize. Life was so fleeting. I hadn't known it could be lost in a nanosecond. 

Who was I to deny Bill his trip to South America? Unlike teachers, we didn't need to hire substitutes when we were gone. Our work at the central office was not as important as what happened in classrooms every day.

I swiveled back in my chair to face Bill. "Of course, you can go. I would feel terrible if you missed this opportunity."

His face flushed pink against his curly red hair as he smiled. "Don't worry, I'll make sure everyone is briefed before I leave. Life is good!"

During his six-week absence, I added his responsibilities to mine. I immersed myself in learning about the assessments and answered questions from schools. I grew more confident in my new position. When my supervisor asked, "What were you thinking letting Bill leave for six weeks?" I shrugged and said, "It's a once in a lifetime deal."

Bill was cheerier than usual when he returned. He walked with a bounce in his step and attacked his duties with renewed vigor. "Thank you again for being so understanding," he told me repeatedly.

Six months later, Bill suffered a fatal heart attack. At his funeral, I spoke about his cheerfulness and how he always followed through, no matter how late the hour. The sorrow in his wife's eyes pierced me. There were speeches by those he had touched — his men's group, church group, sailing club and his 20-year-old son. Their tributes made me see that Bill wasn't just an assessment expert, he had many passions that he pursued with gusto.

I stayed in the division head position for nearly ten years, but the long hours and constant demands wore at me. I made sure to use my allotted vacation days each year and in 2017, I retired at age 60. I wanted to spend more time with my husband. I wanted to pursue a life-long dream to discover my roots in China. I wanted to explore printmaking and art journaling. Those interests absorbed me after the unexpected death of my husband a year into my retirement.

During the isolation that ensued with the pandemic, I reevaluated my priorities and thought of Bill when I read about the Great Resignation where 57 million Americans quit their jobs.

Although he had expressed his gratitude, I really had him to thank for teaching me what was important in my life. It wasn't the number of hours I worked or pleasing my supervisors. It was taking time to pursue creative outlets and to have a well-rounded life surrounded by my family and friends.

Cynthia Lim 
Cynthia Lim lives in Los Angeles and is the author of Wherever You Are: A Memoir of Love, Marriage, and Brain Injury. She is working on a book about her family’s immigration from China. Read More