The shift of December into January
reminds me that Time is a fickle friend. The adage of, “time flies when you’re
having fun” does seem to apply more readily at my ripe old age. It confounds me how, as we age, Time seems to just meander
through the woods without our consent.
For
example, at four I was anxious to attend school. I wanted to learn and share
“best friend” charms. When Time allowed the change of class structure in junior
high, I felt a shift away from childhood. Happily, I waved goodbye to the naps
and innocence I now cherish. At thirteen, the angst settled in as I began to construct
an identity. I desperately needed my mother but just as readily pushed her away.
I was elated at eighteen because I
was finally legal and could vote. I dreamt my life away on Sunset Boulevard at
twenty-one. Ages twenty-two, twenty-three, and twenty-four were left in a neon
stupor between varying county and state lines. Twenty-five I rented a car
legally for the first time. And suddenly, I woke up. I was married, had a house,
and children. I wondered, when did this all happen and could I have a mulligan
on those missed naps?
Time - the
ineffable measure of experience. Everyday we rise and ponder the monotony: our
jobs, mortgages to be paid, pets to feed, children to take to school, a dinner
to make, or a business meeting in the evening. This culture we live in demands production.
It seeks immediate gratification. It can leave us wanting, wishing for
something better, brighter, or happier tomorrow.
I recently discovered that we
seldom grant ourselves the permission to be
present, to enjoy the everyday gifts from Great Mystery. Be it the laughter of a
child, the sun’s warmth on our faces, the air wafting across our visage, or
enjoying the company of a loved one. We spend enough time anticipating the
future, trying to mould it. We spend enough time looking retrospectively into the past, wishing we
could change it.
2014 © DNKG Anticipation, Retrospection and a Time to Be
