I am sitting down quietly on a bench in the park. The inscription, "In loving memory of J.A Burns, a loving husband and father," is conspicuously engraved on the backrest. As I trace the words with my eyes, the realization hits me: this race of life we so often run without pause to reflect, reassess, or appreciate can be gone in a heartbeat.

Why is it so easy to forget this? There seem to be too many things pulling at our attention, each one louder than the last, until we can no longer keep up. One minute it is the phone ringing, the next it is buzzing notifications demanding every last strand of our being. The fickleness of human nature kicks in. What was that thing you were just saying under your breath? What thought had been forming before it was broken?

Attention. Attention. Always attention. And the insatiable quest to be seen, heard, noticed, and acknowledged. This is the incurable disease of our generation. It has become the new currency, and we are its debtors seeing as we cannot get enough of it. The taskmasters of the digital age whom we are at their beckon knows it all too well. Oh Yes! I am referring to the social networking platforms who have sunk their teeth deep into us, sucking away the essence of our quiet existence.

As I gaze back at the engraved nameplate of Mr. J.A Burns, I am struck by a burning question: how much of his existence in this short life was fulfilling enough to cut through the noise of self-gratification and relentless self-attention? 

The impulse response is: I may never know. And that is not a judgment on Mr. Burns’ life, nor on the countless others who came before him and will follow after. Rather, it is a mirror held up to my own. A sudden self-realisation of the reality before me.

We spend so much time worrying about what might have been, what could still be achieved, and how we might be noticed. Yet we give so little thought to the legacies and impact we might leave behind. That is the true currency, far more valuable than attention yet so often ignored, unobserved, or unnoticed.

As I step out of the park, I carry with me the quiet reminder that there is more to live for outside the digital matrix of smart devices and the world wide web.

To J.A Burns. In memory of a man I do not know yet whose silent bench has made me acknowledge the reality of the life not yet lived.

L.R signed off.