I Don't Have That Kind of Time

I recently read the book, Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. She relates an anecdote in which she is on a shopping trip with her friend Pammy who is dying of cancer. Anne tries on a dress which is unlike the big, baggy clothes she usually chooses. It fits perfectly, but Anne stood there "feeling very shy and self-conscious and pleased." Then I (Anne) said, 'Do you think it makes my hips look too big?' and she (Pammy) said to me slowly, 'Annie? I really don't think you have that kind of time.'" (p. 170)

And you know what? I don't have that kind of time either. I don't have time to procrastinate the things that I want to do. I don't have time to be ruled by the perfectionist tyrant. I don't have time for petty squabbles and idle arguments. I don't have time to try to pacify people who can't be pleased, who are negative and disapproving. I don't have time to nurse hurt feelings. I don't have time to regret past sins of which I have repented or poor decisions I have made or failures to act because of my own weakness. I don't even have time to regret the time I've wasted! I'll never get it back so I have to try to make the best use of the time I have left. And so what is the best use? I think it's easier to determine what it's not, than what it is. I know it's not to agonize over what people think of me or expect of me. Ms. Lamott goes on to say, "I don't think you have time to waste not writing because you are afraid you won't be good enough at it,..." (p. 170)

James asks the question, "What is your life?" And he answers the question too. "It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." (James 4:14)  Peter puts it this way, "For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away; But the word of the Lord endureth for ever..." My problem is that I don't want my life to be a vapour that disappears in an instant and leaves no trace; I don't want to be grass that dies unnoticed and is forgotten.
Is it just me, or is there something in the human spirit that wants to leave something of ourselves behind? Some legacy?