Pausing the Race: A Reflection of Life

By Maggie Augustyn, DDS, FAGD

I’ve always looked up to my next-door neighbor, Fran. He seems to have lived his life right. He’s a talented clinician, a surgeon, a practice owner like many of us and a podiatrist. A little over a decade my senior and with a loving wife, three kids and now grandkids in the picture, he was ready for life’s most cherished and awaited moments — the golden years. The kids have grown up, the debts have been cleared, and countless lives have been changed for the better due to his care. It was a time for him and his wife, Connie, to explore, breathe, and savor a slower and shared rhythm.

Except his time was interrupted abruptly — Fran was diagnosed with terminal glioblastoma of the brain.

As my heart aches for a man I adore and his wife, children and grandchildren, I recognize the lessons his life imparts. We live pushing one difficult moment to the next, often without pause. We imagine and convince ourselves that there will come a time for a break and celebration in the future. But what if that time never comes? Have we, in our relentless striving to help patients, unknowingly forfeited life’s most valuable rewards?

There is both hope and arrogance in the sense that either a bright or peaceful future awaits us. Despite the stories we hear of colleagues or neighbors whose lives have been cut short, we continue to believe that an abrupt end won’t become our reality. And I am not here to convince you otherwise. However, if we do not accept that possibility, we might push ourselves harder than what might be acceptable. When we do that, we can blow past moments of peace, love and celebration.

Many of us assume these cherished moments will be in the distant future — during retirement. We continue to convince ourselves that if we just push harder today, when that golden chapter arrives, it will all be worth it. We go on, broken but hopeful, clinging to the belief that at the age of 65 or so, we will heal.

Over the years, I watched Fran take many pauses. He focused much of his life on his kids. He loved nature and spent time gardening and growing vegetables. I have no doubt that he’s lived his life in celebration, but I believe him to be an exception. For most of us, driving toward that time of savored rest, we seldom take a break or find peace. Our days seem to always be about amassing, counting and achieving more. Yes, we slow down enough to go on a vacation or two. But we really don’t look for magic in everyday life. We believe that to be too distracting, and, quite frankly, pointless. There would be no return on investment in finding joy in a cup of coffee if you could be holding a handpiece instead.

But, as I’ve grown older and contemplated Fran’s life, I’ve come to recognize this mindset for what it is — one of the most profound and enduring fallacies shaping our existence. Too often we simply do not celebrate the simple moments in life. We easily dismiss the chirping of birds on a Saturday morning, the Tuesday nights on the couch cuddled with the dog or the backseat conver- sations with the kids on the way to school. We ignore the laughter of parents when they are still with us. We don’t anchor ourselves in those joys because they seem fleeting and irrelevant. We don’t perceive them to have a return on investment in our lives.

But these moments, however small, define our lives. It’s counting these experiences, as opposed to the crown preps and days of production, that ensures we won’t look back with regret if our days are cut short. Perhaps more profoundly, anchoring ourselves to these quiet moments of celebration has the power to transform the lens through which we see life itself. They gently steer us away from the relentless pursuit of “what’s next” and invite us into a space of stillness, of pause. They allow us to step back, to acknowledge the quiet triumphs overshadowed by our striving, and, in doing so, they bestow a rare and sacred gift — a moment of peace.

Often, in the quiet moments before sleep, we replay the day’s scenes in our minds. We recount our endeavors, our conversations and the countless efforts we expended, only to feel a nagging void where joy ought to be. We perceive happiness in others, a brightness in their interactions, and wonder why it feels so distant from us. We wonder, how is this possible?

Perhaps it is not what we’ve done but what we’ve neglected. To heal this emptiness, we must recalibrate — not in grand gestures, but in gentle practices. Celebrate the smiles shared, the quiet victories, the warmth of voices that lift our spirits. Choose to gather those moments, however fleeting, and hold them close. In honoring these small joys we start to heal and cherish life again.

I am beginning to live my life this way. And it’s not easy. My brain has been programmed to the contrary for years. Shifting this mindset takes intention, practice and effort. But here’s what I’ve discovered along the way: This recalibration of perspective is making me happier — truly, deeply happier. And with that happiness comes fewer regrets. I no longer find myself endlessly yearning for the “next big thing” — the vacation, the promotion, the distant someday of retirement. Instead, I’ve started to live in the here and now. It’s in these micromoments — as I type this, it’s a Saturday morning, and birds are chirping — that I feel the richness of life. These small, precious moments fill me, renew me and make my heart come alive.

And in them, I find gratitude — for the simple beauty of being here.

If there is anything that Fran’s life and its abrupt shift teaches us, it is this: There is no guarantee of “someday.” The magic we seek is not confined to some distant future; it is here, waiting for us to notice it. Waiting for us to pause, to breathe and to anchor ourselves to the beauty in our everyday.

Maggie Augustyn, DDS, FAGD, is a practicing general dentist, owner of Happy Tooth, faculty member at Productive Dentist Academy, author and inspirational speaker. To comment on this article, email impact@agd.org.