Frederick Buechner wrote that “Almost is likely to be a sad word (even) in the best of circumstances.” (from his book, Peculiar Treasures) He was right, of course – whether, as he said, it’s a sad word … or even a bad word … maybe an unfortunate word … or a revealing one … or a word with enough power that once spoken we wish we could get it back, but it’s too late. Just think about some of the ways “almost” is used – or, worse yet, heard:
“Sometimes you cook almost as well as my mom does.”
“He almost crossed the goal line.”
“She almost got her book published.”
“You’re almost what we’re looking for.”
“The children you bring to this new marriage are almost as important as mine.”
“Almost everything he said was true.”
“For a moment there, I almost thought I could trust him.”
“She almost hit that high note.”
“We almost had enough for the down payment we needed.”
“You almost missed the tree you backed into.”
“I can almost fit into these old clothes.”
“A new drug that could save your loved one’s life is almost ready to go on the market.”
“You almost could have been a ….”
There’s even a TV show called “I Almost Got Away With It.”
“Almost is likely to be a sad word (even) in the best of circumstances.” How sad were the words long ago attributed to a man named Agrippa (who had just listened to a passionate testimony of faith from St. Paul)? “Almost you have persuaded me to be a Christian.” Those were the last of his words ever recorded. “Almost ….” How sad are our own frequent testimonies of “almost” having stood tall, “almost” having been what was needed in a crucial moment, “almost” having had sufficient courage to do this or say that, “almost” having risked being accepted in order to be honorable, “almost” having shared love or sympathy with someone while there was still time, “almost” having made a right decision that could have changed the course or our life or someone else’s? When you ponder it seriously, Buechner’s quote is poignant and pertinent enough to tape on refrigerators or bathroom mirrors to be seen and considered every day.
I cannot change history, nor can you. We can’t rewrite or revise it, either, however hard some may try. As Maya Angelou observed: “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived.” So, what can we do? C.S. Lewis said : “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.” Today, I want to start where I am by discarding “almost.” There are too many of them in my history. There may be just as many in my future, though I hope not. But for this one day, I want to live without “almost.” Today I want to love well and laugh well and eat well, to look for beauty and goodness, to listen to people (even those I usually resist or judge) and hopefully learn from them, to take time for me and make time for others, to slow down enough to see and hear small gestures of kindness that could make a big difference in how I see (and treat) people, to exercise and, also, rest, to tell somebody how much they mean to me, to do or say something that will actually be a “good example,” to think about transcendent things, to contribute a little, at least, to the well-being of the world. I want to resist the temptation to do something eventually (“I almost got around to it”). I want to know that for this sacred twenty-four hour stretch, I didn’t “almost” live. Instead, I threw myself fully and joyfully into the deep end of the pool.