A Lifetime In Between

Last Friday, a group of us from Microsoft volunteered at a senior nursing centre.

We went to bring a little joy and companionship. We brought games, prizes, karaoke and, most importantly, our time and energy.

It was quite an experience for me, as it was my very first time volunteering at a senior nursing centre in Singapore.

At one point, I stepped back and looked around the room. Elderly residents sat together around tables, while we volunteers sang, laughed, danced and did everything we could to get everyone involved.

The people laughing the loudest, moving around and seemingly having the most fun were mostly… us.

The residents were much quieter. Some watched. Some joined in. Some simply sat there. Despite all the energy in the room, I barely saw anyone laugh.

I don't know what they were thinking or feeling. But the scene stayed with me, because it reminded me of another image:

My toddler, sitting around a table in a group class at her preschool.

At her age, everything is fascinating. A small toy, a song or a funny face can bring so much joy.

When I placed these two images side by side, they looked strangely similar. A group of people sitting around a table. Eating. Talking. Doing activities together. People around them helping, caring and keeping them company.

The same setting, at two completely different ends of life.

One is just beginning. The other is nearing its end.

In one room, joy seems to come so easily.
In the other, we had to try hard to create it.

And it struck me: between these two tables lies a lifetime.

We arrive needing someone to feed us, carry us, protect us and keep us company.

And if we are fortunate enough to live a long life, many of us will eventually return to something remarkably similar. We may once again need someone to help us walk. Someone to prepare our food. Someone to sit with us. Someone simply to talk to.

The beginning and the end can look surprisingly alike.

So if we start and finish in such similar places, why do we try so hard? What is all the striving for?

Perhaps the answer is that the meaning was never at either end. What makes each life different is everything that happens in between.

That thought has stayed with me.

So what are we doing with the years in between?

We spend so much of our lives chasing progress. How far can I go? How high can I climb? How much can I earn? What title can I reach? What can I achieve?

I don't think there is anything wrong with ambition. I want to go far. I want to build things. I want financial freedom. I want to create something meaningful. I want to see what I am capable of.

All of that matters.

But those two images made me wonder whether there is another question worth asking:

What kind of life am I building for the person I will eventually become?

When I am old, and no longer as mobile or independent as I am today, who will still be sitting at the table with me? What will determine the quality of my life then?

Will it be the friendships I built over decades?
The family relationships I nurtured instead of taking for granted?
The community I contributed to?
The people whose lives I made a little better?
The freedom that comes from having built enough financial security?

Maybe it is all of the above.

And maybe a good old age isn't something we start working on at 70. Maybe we are building it right now.

Every friendship we nurture or neglect. Every relationship we invest in. Every risk we take or avoid. Every year we spend doing something meaningful, or simply going through the motions. Every dollar we save, invest or waste. Every person we help. Every memory we create.

They are all small deposits into the life we will eventually inherit.

That thought makes me restless.

Because if I keep living exactly as I am today, year after year, I can probably picture where that road leads.

Not necessarily to a bad life. But to something I find more frightening:

An ordinary life I never consciously chose.

A life where the years were filled with meetings, deadlines, promotions and responsibilities, but somewhere along the way I forgot to ask what it was all for.

I work in a corporate environment today, and I am grateful for what it has given me: opportunities, learning, financial stability, incredible people, and experiences I would never otherwise have had.

But I am increasingly realising that a successful corporate career, on its own, is not the destination I want.

A job can help fund a life.
A career can help me grow.
But neither should become the definition of my life.

I want to build things that belong to me.
I want deeper relationships.
I want financial independence.
I want to create value beyond my job description.
I want to be part of communities that would still matter if my title disappeared one day.

And perhaps most importantly, I want to reach that table at the other end of life knowing that I truly lived the years in between.

Not perfectly.
Not necessarily extraordinarily by anyone else's definition.
But intentionally.

Because one day, if we are lucky enough, most of the things that feel so important today will become irrelevant.

The title will disappear.
The meetings will stop.
The emails will stop arriving.
No one will remember the executive briefing we stayed up until midnight perfecting.

But hopefully, some things will remain.

The people we loved.
The people who loved us.
The things we created.
The lives we touched.
The stories we can still tell.

And maybe someone will still want to sit beside us at that table.

There is a whole lifetime between those two images.

I'm starting to realise that how I spend it deserves far more thought than how high I can climb.