Year one is cramped apartments and wishes that you both saw the same side of the sun.
Years three to five are digging in your heels that this is an adventure as you navigate new careers, locations, & school.
Year six you think to yourself that you thought life would slow down now, but it hasn’t, and you shrug away the fear.
The fear that time is moving.
The truth is that I’m only really at year one. And its devious arrival was celebrated with tapas and empanadas that didn’t last long enough. But the day is gone. And so is the year. And I know that year five and six will sidle up alongside me, tapping me on the shoulder before I’m ready to welcome their passing as well.
I hear Eckhart Tolle has the answers about time, but maybe not. Because it is one thing to be mindful, receiving of what is happening right now, but another to look back, and simply wish a year was maybe, a little longer. And lately, I do wish this.
Because as much as I plot where I hope to go, and dream about the day that all the puzzles pieces show me the box - I know that today is good, and I don't want to leave it behind. I see friends with chronic illness, the grief of wanting and losing children, the wrenches of life's toolbox knocking them flat. I listen to clients and am handed their realities. I look at my parents, and I can see that yes, maybe they have added on years right along with me after all. But for the first time, I notice, and instead of them telling me to not grow up too fast, I want to tell them the same. And this is a hard, strange thing to unravel. I don’t care to sit with it or examine it too closely because it is real unlike so much else.
And then my birthday is waving in the distance, the heat of summer signifying its sure, swift arrival. But this year I want to push it away because it’s just another marker of time lost. But defying time is a battle that was lost the second we screamed out our existence. And we sure do like to shout that time has moved. Birthdays. Anniversaries. New Years. Holidays. A thousand ways to scratch out the passing of days.
Time is so fickle.
And I've never been the betting kind.
So yes, I fear time. And all that she holds in her cards.
And this is the point in this piece where I am supposed to subtly shift the tone, and tell you how I have loved, created, and learned along with so much more over this year’s days. Tell you about the sweetness and late night pillow muffled laughter that I know is my life. That I’m actually a fairly mindful person who enjoys her moment to moment day. How satisfaction sets deep in my bones every time I think about where my tiny repeated steps are taking me. Yes, I could tell you these things.
I am an optimist. A natural at reframing any thought and situation despite my outward sass and snark. Hope springs eternal for me that every folly is really just my uprising. And frankly, this has helped me get where I am today. But if you don’t mind, I would like to press hold before the therapist in me insists on reframing my perspective. Because time does move fast and slow, and in this moment it feels fast. Too fast.