We measure time in many ways. We measure it in the last time I saw you, the last time we spoke. The space between those moments grows into \u201cit\u2019s been too long,\u201d until one day you realize you can\u2019t remember the last time at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Too often, we don\u2019t get to say what needs to be said to the person it belongs to. We begin to understand the space between time only when time is up in this lifetime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This weekend, I attended a celebration of life for a woman who was many things to me\u2014boss, co-worker, colleague, mentor\u2014but most importantly, a friend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Since 1984, Lillian was a part of my life. That\u2019s a long time, more than half of it. I was a twenty-two-year-old just out of college, and the bank was my first real job. Lill was instrumental in my development\u2014not just from a career standpoint, but in learning how to be an adult. The bank was a family, and I don\u2019t say that lightly. Lill was the matriarch, sitting quite literally in the middle of it all, in the main lobby, as Senior Vice President. I watched the way she interacted with customers\u2014with warmth, with grace, with a kind of presence that made people feel seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I reflected yesterday, I started thinking about circles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our First Bank of Highland Park circle was one of the closest-knit groups I\u2019ve ever been a part of. A lot of us grew up together inside that circle. We ate lunch together\u2014small groups of two or three\u2014back when long lunches were still a thing. Kountry Kitchen, Little Szechwan, J.B. Winberie\u2019s. Drinks after work made us regulars at Winberie\u2019s and The Wooden Nickel in Highwood. We had a basketball team, a co-ed softball team.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I started playing golf only because one of the Vice Presidents\u2014and a few others\u2014would leave the bank at 2:00 on warm Tuesdays and Thursdays to \u201csurvey some property.\u201d One day he told me I needed to get some clubs and asked me where I thought they were really going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And during those years, when the city of Chicago felt electric, four of us shared season tickets to the Chicago Bulls from \u201991 to \u201993. Those championship runs weren\u2019t just about basketball\u2014they were about who you experienced them with. Nights filled with noise, belief, and the kind of joy that only comes when you know you\u2019re witnessing something special, together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I think it was around \u201987 when Lill invited me to join her poker group. We played once a month, rotating houses. Truth be told, it was more about the food and the conversation than the low-stakes card games. That\u2019s the group in the picture above, it was the 25th<\/sup> anniversary of their group playing so we flew to Vegas for some real gambling. That\u2019s Lill, second from the right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Some of my fondest memories were when it was Lill\u2019s turn to host. I\u2019d get there early, before everyone else, sitting with her at the table, sipping tea\u2014long before \u201csipping tea\u201d became a thing people joked about. Just the two of us, talking about life, work, people. Nothing rushed, nothing forced. Just time, shared without knowing how valuable it would become.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That ritual lasted more than thirty years and ended over something petty. I don\u2019t know what happened to the rest of them, but Lill and I stayed friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The circles within the circle of life. A big Venn diagram of shared relationships and experiences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And then I started thinking about those circles a different way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Like tires on the 18-wheeler of your life. Each tire its own circle, rotating on its own axis, serving its own purpose, but all necessary for the journey. They move independently, but they\u2019re all carrying the same load\u2014you, your life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tires go flat. Some blow out. Some just wear down over time and get replaced. But some\u2026 some last the entire ride. Family. Close friends. The ones you don\u2019t discard\u2014you patch them, repair them, keep them rolling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And too often, those are the ones we take for granted. We don\u2019t check them regularly. We forget they\u2019re there until there\u2019s a slow leak, or until they hit a nail, or the tread gets too low from neglect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If the First Bank of Highland Park was a wheel, Lillian Herter was the hub. At least for me. But if you knew her, you\u2019d probably say that for a lot of people in that circle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A celebration of life has a way of bringing all those circles together, if only for a moment. Time expands, and in doing so, it creates space. The distance between phone calls and text messages grows. The gap between lunch and laughter widens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I want to do a better job of checking my circles. Kicking the tires, so to speak. But more than that, not letting time rob me of the people who matter most\u2014the ones who shaped me, the ones who are part of my foundation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Because space can be narrowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sometimes with something as simple as a text\u2014 In memory of Lillian Herter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" We measure time in many ways. We measure it in the last time I saw you, the last time we spoke. 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Thinking of you.<\/em>
Or, Do you remember the time\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n