Sometimes all we do is talk.
We plan, we dream, we wonder, we muse.
Then it is too late and all we have are regrets.
The past week one of my girlfriends was in turmoil over when to head home to North Africa to visit her terminally ill friend.
The dates kept changing and confusion reigned supreme.
This morning she came to the office heartbroken: her friend had died overnight, suddenly.
In this instance it is clear that time is never on our side and that we must do, not talk.
My mother has not been on vacation in years – a combination of work and personal commitments.
I swore that when I achieved the job of my dreams I would take her somewhere; with all the term and research chaos, this has become dangerously close to a mere dream as I delay it from September to October to Lord knows when.
No more: I have the money, I have the winter vacation and the impetus is starker than before.
As a result, we are now booked for ten days in Marrakesh shortly after New Year, my mother is screaming in excitement and terror, but on the whole I am delighted that it is now done.
With English, Spanish, Arabic and French between us the language problem should be minimal, leaving the only quandary to be the luggage.
(Because it is inevitable that the baggage fines will almost trump the airfare on the return trip.)
It is a twee cliché, but life really is just too short.
So just do it.