Jefferson goes into surgery today, and I would much rather be having another cup of coffee with him.

They’re opening his chest to replace multiple heart valves and make several other repairs. His doctor described his heart as looking like “Swiss cheese,” which is a phrase you’d much rather hear while somebody is making you a sandwich.

The doctors told him that without the surgery within the next year, there was a good chance he could experience what they called a “catastrophic cardiac event.” They’re confident about the operation and expect him to be able to lead a healthy life afterward.

That’s reassuring. It also doesn’t entirely settle your stomach when someone you care about is about to have his chest opened.

His wife and I are optimistic. We’re also worried. Those feelings are keeping each other company today.

But there’s something from our conversation this past weekend that I want to share with you, because Jefferson has already started thinking about the life he hopes to return to.

And he wants parts of it to look different.

When he came over for coffee, I asked what he thought life would be like after surgery and recovery. Something this big can make you reconsider arrangements you’ve accepted for years. I wondered what he was thinking about his own.

He was practical. He’s only in his early 50s. He knows he needs to go back to work. Bills don’t disappear just because you’ve had a revelation, and neither does the need for a paycheck.

But he doesn’t want to go back to the job he had.

Almost three weeks ago, he took a leave of absence. He got on his motorcycle and spent several days getting lost deep in the woods, picking up a hotel here and there. Eventually, he made his way down to Virginia to see his mom and his sister.

On the way back, he stopped at Gettysburg, one of his favorite places. He spent time looking over the battlefields and learning things he hadn’t known before.

There was room on that trip for curiosity. For family. For taking a little longer somewhere because he wanted to be there.

And somewhere along the way, it struck him how much of his life had become a cycle of waking up, going to work, coming home, eating something, and collapsing. Then getting up and doing it again.

There was a whole world out there, and he wanted more of his life to happen in it.

I suspect a few of you know exactly what he means.

You don’t necessarily hate your life. You might love the people in it. You may take pride in your work and appreciate what it allows you to afford. But you get to the end of another week and realize there wasn’t much in it that you actually chose for yourself.

The things you enjoy keep getting pushed to the edges. You’ll call your friend when you have more energy. Get away when work settles down. Try something new once you’ve caught up on everything else.

Meanwhile, there’s always something else.

Even retirement doesn’t automatically break that habit. A calendar can fill up with obligations at any age, and a quiet afternoon can disappear into chores and a phone screen just as easily as it can disappear into work.

I hate that Jefferson has this surgery ahead of him. I wish he could have reached this realization without such a frightening reason to examine his life.

But I’m glad he’s reaching it now. I hope he has decades ahead to make good on it, to find work that leaves him something of himself at the end of the day, and to spend more time with the people and places he loves.

He doesn’t need to have every detail worked out over coffee. Right now, getting through surgery and having the time and care to recover are plenty.

Still, knowing that he wants something different matters. It gives him a place to begin when he’s ready.

And the rest of us can begin paying attention without waiting for a hospital to give us a reason.

That doesn’t mean quitting your job tomorrow or pretending responsibilities don’t exist. Most of us have people depending on us, budgets to work within, and bodies with their own opinions about our plans.

It does mean asking whether everything we’ve made room for deserves quite so much of our time—and whether the things we keep postponing deserve a little more.

Maybe you miss having a whole afternoon with a friend. Maybe you want to get out of town, learn something that has absolutely no professional benefit, or accept an invitation you’d usually decline because staying home feels easier.

For some of our GoNaked guys, it might be making time for a naked swim and a long conversation with men who make them laugh. For somebody else, it might look a lot like Jefferson’s trip: a motorcycle, a few days away, and a visit with family.

You know what you’ve been missing. Or perhaps you’ve been busy enough that you need a little quiet to figure it out.

Give yourself that time. See what comes up when you stop asking only what needs to get done next.

Today, I’m thinking about Jefferson and his wife. I’m hoping for a smooth surgery, a steady recovery, and another visit over coffee when he’s up to it.

I want to hear what he learned at Gettysburg. I want to hear what he’s considering for work. Mostly, I want him sitting across from me, with time for the conversation.

And I’m taking what he said seriously in my own life, too.

We don’t have to wait until something happens to us to make a little more room for living.