While you still can

This photo was taken about five years ago.

Bear was still young—maybe five—but already wise in all the ways that matter. He wasn’t loud about it. He never needed to be. He just… showed up. Every morning. Same spot. Same look.

That morning, the house was still quiet. Sunlight creeping across the floor. I was standing at the stove, cooking breakfast—bacon, eggs, toast. And there was Bear, right behind me, stretched out on the tile with his head up, eyes locked in.

Not begging. Not pacing.

Just waiting.

If Bear could’ve spoken in that moment, I know exactly what he would’ve said:

“Listen, man… I’m not trying to rush greatness. I respect the process. The pan’s hot, the bacon’s sizzling, and I know you’ve got your rhythm. I’ve been here since the first crack of the egg, and I haven’t blinked.

Because I’m Bear. Bacon’s #1 fan. Breakfast floor patrol. Professional believer in the power of small miracles.

The Bear abides. But also—The Bear is starving, bro.”

He never knew how long it would take.

He didn’t know if anything would fall.

But he waited—calm, steady, patient—because he trusted me.

And that’s what I’ve come to realize:

Patience isn’t passive. It’s deeply personal.

It’s a quiet kind of love that says, “I’ll stay right here, even if it takes a while.

Bear didn’t understand the plan.

He just believed in the person.

And that was enough.

I’ve said it before—some of my greatest teachers didn’t stand behind podiums.

They stood at the stove with me.

Or lay on the kitchen floor in silence.

Dogs like Bear taught me things I’m still unpacking.

And the older I get, the more I understand:

We don’t get unlimited mornings to do that.

We tell ourselves there’s time.

That we’ll toss the treat later.

Make the call next week.

Drop the bacon tomorrow.

But the truth is—

people drift.

Dogs age.

And the ones who love us most? They don’t always bark to remind us they’re still waiting.

So if someone’s hoping for you—

a kid at the counter,

a spouse sipping coffee alone,

a friend who always texts first,

a dog just wanting you to turn around—

or an aging parent who just wants to hear your voice…

Don’t keep putting it off.

Because one day, breakfast will come…

and they won’t be there to catch the piece you meant to give them.

And you’ll wish—deep in your bones—that you had looked down more often,

stopped stirring just long enough

to say “I see you.”

One thing I know for sure?

Dogs love bacon.

And I’ve had a few I’d give anything to see one more time—

just to toss them a bite and feel that tail thump against the floor.

The same way I miss some of those long-winded phone calls I didn’t always have time for.

Calls from people who aren’t calling anymore.

Trust me when I say—

you’re going to miss that one day. Big time.

I do.

So turn around.

Say the thing.

Make the call.

Drop the bacon.

While you still can.