You only have a loan of your kids

Reality is stubborn that way

by Paul Kearley 

“My son, you only have a loan of your kids,” my father used to say.

I didn’t fully understand that sentence when he first said it. I understand it now.

After travelling to Calgary over Christmas to see two of our three kids—and to wrap my arms around the grandkids—I found myself lying awake one morning, thinking about that simple, unsettling truth. You raise them, protect them, guide them, worry about them… and then one day you realize they are no longer yours in the way you once believed they were.

And that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.

They are grown now. Capable. Thoughtful. Making their own decisions, walking their own paths, succeeding in their chosen fields. That knowledge brings pride—but it also brings humility. Because at some point, your role shifts. You can no longer shield them from the world. You can’t step in front of hardship, disappointment, or uncertainty on their behalf.

All you can do is hope they draw from what you gave them when it mattered most.

You cannot guarantee your children will be happy. You cannot guarantee they will be safe. You cannot guarantee success, however you choose to define it.

What you can build—what truly lasts—is relationship.

A relationship strong enough to hold real conversations. Communication honest enough to handle disagreement. Trust deep enough that they know they can come to you when life gets heavy.

That’s the quiet work of parenting. And leadership. And living.

Lying there that morning, my thoughts drifted outward—from family to the state of the world. The pace. The noise. The division. The uncertainty. I felt a familiar pull toward regret—replaying failures, missed chances, things I thought would turn out differently.

And then another realization landed, firmly and without apology:

The world owes us nothing.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t just. And it will not pause to accommodate our plans or our pain.

Today exists because of all the yesterdays that came before it—choices made, paths taken, chances ignored or seized. We can spend hours wishing those days had unfolded differently, but they won’t change. They can’t. Reality is stubborn that way.

The first responsibility we have—before motivation, before ambition, before hope—is acceptance.

Things are what they are.

Not as resignation, but as grounding.

Because once you accept what is, you are free to decide what you will do today.

Not tomorrow. Not “someday.” Today.

Yes, planning matters. Of course it does. But let’s be honest—plans are fragile. As Mike Tyson once said, “Everyone has a plan, until they get punched in the face.” Life has a way of doing that.

You don’t live in tomorrow. You don’t act in tomorrow. You live—and act—right now.

This moment is the only place where courage is possible. It’s the only place where decisions can be made. It’s the only place where impact begins.

So as you stand at the start of another year—freshly unwrapped and full of expectation—remember this:

The actions you take today will do more to shape your happiness than all the plans you have for tomorrow.

Open the door to each morning with intention. Step into the daylight with your head up. Choose courage over comfort. Choose presence over distraction. Choose relationships over achievements that impress but don’t endure.

You only have a loan of your kids. You only have a short lease on this life.

So why not use it well?

Build relationships that outlast titles. Do work that reflects who you truly are. Live in a way that, when your name comes up in conversation, someone says, “The world was better because they were in it.”