I spent a few summers as a bartender-in-training at a local restaurant.

One afternoon, sometime around the 4th of July, an older man came and sat at the bar alone. I hadn’t had many conversations with customers besides the usual small-talk as I was only a trainee — most of my work was cutting limes and bussing dishes — but my colleague at the time was occupied.

“Afternoon sir. What can I get for you today?” I said.

“Old-fashioned, extra bitters,” he replied without hesitation.

I nodded in affirmation and began making his drink. From across the counter, I heard him say, “Hey son, you’re a pretty young guy — how old are yah? Can’t be over 25 I reckon.”

“I’m 21, sir,” I said with shy confidence.

“21? Oh, you’re just a boy. And they’ve got you making an old man an old-fashioned? How about that!”

I didn’t really know how to reply. I shrugged with a smile and slid him his drink, assuming the conversation was over.

“What do yah do? Study much?” he asked.

“Uh, yessir. I’m entering my last year of college this Fall,”

“Christ,” said the man as he took a sip of his drink.

Not really sure how to keep the conversation going, I looked for busy work, but since it was a holiday weekend there wasn’t much to do, the bar was virtually empty.

“Got any plans after school?”

“Not yet,” I replied while cleaning the bar top.

He kept the questions coming. “What’do yah like to do?”

Again, I was unsure how to respond. I decided to give him my defacto answer I’d been giving everyone who asked me my post-grad plans, and told him I’d like to get a job at a marketing agency to start out.

He wasn’t impressed.

After a long sip of his old-fashioned (extra bitters) he said to me something I will never forget: “Look. I’m a 74-year-old man. I’ve had a long life — and a good one, at that,” he began, “but I’d give it away to be you. Something I wish I’d done at 21, is found my life’s work.”

I stopped wiping the counter, put down the rag, and gave him my full attention.

“You’re going to finish school, take a job in a nice office somewhere with a good salary, put your head down, and get to work…” he took a deep pause, and a long slow sip of his drink.

“…but the next time you look up, 40 years will have gone by. You’ll have kids, then they’ll have kids of their own. Your wrinkles will be as deep and as dark as mine. And you’ll sit at a bar, with a drink in your hand, wondering where the time went.”

His name was Marty.

And every time I procrastinate, I remember his words. I remember his tone, his demeanor — how serious he was.

I remember how his throat dried as he spoke, and how the old-fashioned with extra bitters brought relief.

I remember his wrinkled smile and how happy he was when he knew his advice had made an impact on me.

Life goes by way too fast. One day we’re packing our backpacks for our first day of kindergarten; the next, we’re closing our bags as our final day at the office comes to an end.

Get off of social media, and go enjoy the sunshine. Stop watching Netflix in your basement alone and start watching waves crash on an beach somewhere with friends, family, loved ones. Don’t complain about being at a job you hate; discover your passion and make that your life’s work.

Life is short.

Don’t waste it procrastinating.

Thanks for reading!

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