The Dash Between the Dates

Between the first breath and the last, there is only the work.

Yesterday, my aunt, a Command Sergeant Major (Ret.), whose words carry the stillness of discipline, told me something I can't stop thinking about.

She said that in every cemetery, there are beautiful markers.

Stone polished by hands that loved.

Words chosen to remember.

But the most important part of every headstone

is not the name,

nor the years carved into its face,

but the small dash between them.

That line is barely an inch wide

represents everything.

Every joy, mistake, promise, and lesson.

Every sunrise we saw and every night we endured.

The sum of what we built, and what we broke.

As builders, we often believe our legacy will be the structures we leave behind.

But it isn't.

It's how we showed up in the process.

How we treated those beside us.

How we carried the tools,

and whether we did the work with presence.

The dash is the practice.

It's the nail we drive with care.

The silence before we speak.

The patience in a plan that takes longer than we hoped.

So do the work well.

Live the dash fully.

Because in the end,

no one remembers the dates.

Only the way we built.

Field Note:

Between start and finish lies the only thing that ever mattered, the quality of our attention.