Once, I was out of the house 93 days in a year. I was missing

Hear, O children of the future, the wisdom of Jerry Spinelli, whose words reveal the truth about the balance between ambition and connection. “Once, I was out of the house 93 days in a year. I was missing grandparents' days at schools and kids' birthdays and Valentine's Day, not to mention the fact that when you're on the road, you can't get anything done. I had to learn to say 'No,' cut back on travel.” These words, simple as they may seem, are a profound reflection on the cost of pursuing success and the sacrifice that often accompanies it. Spinelli’s struggle between work and family mirrors the age-old dilemma faced by countless individuals throughout history—how to strike a balance between the demands of the world and the needs of the heart.

In the days of the ancients, the warriors and scholars of old often faced a similar tension. The Greek philosophers were renowned not only for their wisdom but for their dedication to the pursuit of knowledge. Yet many, such as Socrates, found themselves torn between their intellectual pursuits and the needs of their families. Socrates, though wise and revered, was often away from his wife and children, consumed by his work. Yet even he came to realize, as Spinelli did, that a life spent away from loved ones—even in the name of great work—is incomplete. The greatest wisdom, he might say, lies in recognizing that life’s most precious bonds are often those we take for granted.

Spinelli’s quote speaks to the sacrifice that often accompanies ambition. The desire to build a career, to leave a legacy, to be successful in the eyes of the world, can sometimes blind us to the things that truly matter. How often do we rush through life, chasing goals and achievements, only to find that we have missed the most important moments? The birthdays of our children, the quiet conversations with loved ones, and the simple pleasures of life—these things cannot be captured in ambition. Time, once lost, can never be regained.

Consider the story of Cincinnatus, the ancient Roman farmer who was called from his plow to become a dictator during a time of crisis. Though he was a man of great honor and duty, he did not allow his position of power to separate him from his simple life. After he had saved Rome, he refused to remain in power, choosing instead to return to his fields. In his choice