Stop Postponing Joy and Sit on the Deck
September opened with a trip to Chicago to be with my cousin, Jamese, as she buried her only son, DeLon, who passed away suddenly on August 21, 2026. I’m glad I was there to celebrate his young life with family, friends, and the community who knew and loved him. In fact, I am writing this blog from my seat on a return flight from Chicago after attending the funeral of my 34-year-old cousin.
There is something about sitting on a plane after saying goodbye to someone so young that makes you think differently about life. It makes us ponder about all the things we keep saying we are going to do later. Reflecting on it makes a simple day I spent sitting on my deck feel even more significant.
You see, all summer long, I kept saying, “I’m going to sit on my deck.” And it seemed like every time I decided today is the day, it rained. So, I kept putting it off. I’ll sit out there tomorrow. Maybe this weekend. Maybe when the weather is better. Maybe when things slow down.
Earlier this summer, I reflected on Michelle Obama’s words about realizing that she doesn’t have as many summers left as she once did. Those words stayed with me because I am in a season of life where I understand exactly what she means.
At age 63, I don’t say that with sadness. I say it with clarity. I have fewer summers ahead of me than I have behind me, and that realization has made me more intentional about how I want to live the ones I have left.
And after this week, those words carry even more weight. Losing DeLon at only 34 years old reminded me that none of us knows how many summers we have left. Age does not guarantee us more time. Tomorrow is not something any of us gets to put on the calendar with certainty. Therefore, I don’t want to keep postponing joy.
Two weeks ago, the weather was beautiful, and I decided to take full advantage of it. My best friend Roz aka “Lucy” came over, and we spent part of the afternoon on the deck talking, laughing and simply enjoying each other. Later, my husband, Johnathan and I sat on the deck and watched the sunset. Then our daughter, Ariel came home after a busy day at work and joined us on the deck.
Nothing spectacular happened on that day. There was no vacation, no reservation and no carefully planned itinerary. Just my deck, a beautiful day and some of the people I love most in this world. This is what intentional living is about. It’s about recognizing the sacredness of ordinary moments and making memories.
There was a time when another summer, another trip, another sunset, another opportunity to get together with a girlfriend, another evening with my husband or another conversation with my daughter felt guaranteed. Now I understand that while I hope and pray for many more summers, I don’t want to live as though any of them are promised.
In a recent blog, I talked about the practice of rewriting the contract with myself. During my return flight from the funeral, I realized my contract with myself needs another revision:
Stop postponing joy. Stop waiting for the perfect weather, the perfect schedule, the perfect body, the perfect bank account or the perfect circumstances to enjoy life.
I may not have as many summers left as I once did, but I intend to be fully present for the summers that remain. DeLon’s sudden passing has reminded me that this isn’t just an invitation for those of us who are getting older. It is an invitation for all of us.
So as this plane carries me home from a week of remembering, grieving, celebrating, and saying goodbye much too soon, I am carrying this reminder home with me: laugh heartily, love deeply, live passionately, tend to my garden, watch more sunsets, and collect ordinary moments.
The forecast won’t always cooperate. Life won’t always slow down. The conditions won’t always be perfect, and none of us knows how many summers we have left. But when you get a beautiful day, take full advantage of it. Pull up a chair. Be present in the moment. Stop postponing joy and sit on the deck.
Dr. Toni