The Wine, the Lobster, and the Lesson: Why Life Isn’t a Race to the Finish Line

There are dinners you remember for the food.

There are dinners you remember for the company.

And then, on rare occasions, there are dinners that change how you look at life itself.

Murano was one of those nights.

It was partway through my recent back-to-back 23-day cruise of the British Isles and the Baltic Sea when I decided to invite my friend Mike from Sydney — not my business mentor Mike, another Mike — to join me for an evening that, if I’m honest, I didn’t know would become so memorable.

Mike is the kind of person who makes you feel like every conversation should be recorded. He’s been a successful business owner, a seasoned world traveler, a beekeeper, a wine connoisseur, and, more than anything, a philosopher of life. You get the sense that his passport isn’t just stamped with countries, but with experiences, each carrying a story worth telling.

The last time we’d shared a meal on a cruise ship, we’d gone to Le Petit Chef, where the table becomes a stage for an animated chef who “prepares” your meal through a projected cartoon. It was fun, whimsical, even clever — but the constant show kept interrupting the real reason I wanted to be there: the conversation.

This time, I wanted something different. Something quieter, slower. A dinner that would let us enjoy not just the food, but the kind of dialogue that meanders like a river, bending into unexpected but welcome places. Murano seemed like the perfect choice.

The Bottle That Set the Pace

The evening centered around a single bottle of red wine.

I wish I had photographed the label because Mike treated that bottle like a dear old friend. From the moment the cork was presented, he inspected it as if it were the key to the entire evening — checking for moisture, firmness, making sure no unwanted air had snuck in over the years it had been waiting.

Then came the lesson. Not in a rushed, lecture-like way, but as if I was an apprentice in a small, dimly lit workshop, learning from a craftsman who took pride in every detail.

Mike spoke of tannins, of body and bouquet. He showed me how to swirl the wine gently in my glass, how to watch the color shift and catch the scent as it breathed.

And then… we waited.

We didn’t take our first sip for over fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes of noticing. Fifteen minutes of curiosity without judgment. Mike asked me what I was experiencing without any pressure to get it “right,” because there was no right or wrong. The wine was what it was in that moment — personal, unique, and tied forever to that time and place.

That patience, I realized, was setting the tone for the entire evening.

The Meal That Unfolded Like a Story

My first course was a frothy mushroom bisque — earthy, almost grounding. It was followed by tender grilled pork loin, the kind that seems to have absorbed every ounce of flavor the chef could coax from it.

Then came an experiment for both of us: caviar.

Neither of us had tried it before, so naturally we ordered the most expensive option on the menu, thinking we’d be treating ourselves to a flavor experience worthy of the price tag.

Instead, we found ourselves laughing because it was so delicate we could barely taste it, even when we stripped away the bread, cheese, and garnish to try it on its own. I joked that we’d have tasted more if we’d gone with the cheaper option.

The main event, though, was the lobster — three tails for the two of us sautéed at our table with elegance and care, their scent rising in delicate waves.

The first bite was the kind of flavor that makes you slow down without being told. Rich but not heavy, confident but not overpowering.

By dessert, I was full enough to wave the white flag after only a taste of the crème pastry I’d ordered. It was good, but the truth is, even the finest things have their limits. Too much of a good thing can still be too much.

All the while, the wine was there, evolving. Each sip revealed something new, merging and shifting with each course.

The Conversation That Made the Night

The wine was the melody, the food was the rhythm, but the conversation… that was the harmony.

We touched on politics — and disagreed — without it spoiling the mood.

We talked about beekeeping, about marriage, about the art of appreciating wine, about travel plans and the pursuit of fulfillment. Nothing was rushed. There was no “destination” we were trying to reach in the discussion.

And that’s when the real lesson settled in: life isn’t about racing toward a finish line you can’t even see. It’s about moments like this — moments you allow to unfold instead of forcing them into a timetable.

What Happens When You Stop Rushing

Somewhere between the underwhelming caviar and the unforgettable lobster, it became clear: the moments that stay with you aren’t the ones where you “win.”

They’re the ones where you notice. Where you give yourself the time to taste, to listen, to see how the experience changes as it breathes.

Yet most of us live as if the only thing that matters is getting to the end faster. We rush through meals, through conversations, through seasons of our lives, thinking the prize is at the finish.

But the prize is right here — and most people are sprinting past it without realizing what they’re missing.

The Practice of Savoring

If you’ve been living on fast-forward, here’s the truth: slowing down is a skill you can train. Start small.

Give a moment the same attention Mike gave it with that bottle of wine. Let it breathe. Notice what changes. Ask yourself what you’re experiencing without needing to label it as good or bad.

Choose your company as carefully as your wine, because the people you share the moment with can make even a simple dinner feel like a celebration.

And know when to stop — because appreciation thrives within boundaries.

Putting It On the Mat

This week, pick one thing — a meal, a conversation, a walk — and treat it like that night at Murano.

Clear the clock. Be present. Notice. Let it evolve without rushing to the next thing.

The goal isn’t to create some Instagram-worthy moment (one of the reasons I did not take any pictures of my time with Mike at dinner).

The goal is to remind yourself that life is richer when you let it unfold.

If you’re ready to stop sprinting and start savoring — not just for a night, but for a lifetime — reply to this with the word "SAVOR".

I’ll send you a simple framework to slow down, deepen your experiences, and start living in a way that feels as good as it looks on paper.

And if it makes sense, we’ll talk about working together over the next 90 days to make it second nature.

Because the finish line will always be there. But the lobster, the wine, and the conversation? Those only happen if you take the time to notice.

P.S. To enjoy and appreciate more out of life, you need to have better control and autonomy in your time in life.

Without that, you are just running from one fire to the next.

Get Control Your Time, Control Your Life now to stop running and start building.

It's only $27, you spend more than that at your local cafe each week.