I woke up this morning with a groan. Where has the weekend gone? A minute ago it was Friday and I was on time to slow down for a couple of days, then I blinked and I’m back to the Monday morning grind.
More to the point, how is it almost April already? January felt like it was never going to end and then, boom, it’s almost Christmas again.
What time is it?
It doesn’t help that, here in the UK, we lost an hour this weekend with the changing of the clocks. After weeks of enjoying the light filled mornings, I woke to near darkness once again.
“Well, it’s really only 5.30,” my husband said as we walked the dog, the cold morning air making it feel more like winter than the beginnings of spring.
Every time I feel tired this week, at least I’ll be able to attribute it to those lost sixty minutes. It’s a British tradition, an unspoken rule, that we must spend at least a few days acknowledging what time it really is, in the same way we do when we navigate a different time zone.
I’m how old?
This year is running away from me. So is my life. My daughter was fifteen last week. Fifteen. In two-years time, she’ll be learning to drive. In three, she’ll likely be leaving home to go to university, taking her first tentative steps towards adulthood. It doesn’t seem possible that her childhood is almost over when only days ago we were jumping in muddy puddles and cuddling up together in my king-sized bed.
I wish I’d listened when people told me to enjoy it while I could. That it doesn’t last long. Back then, knee deep in nappies and sleepless night, it seemed like those days would go on forever. Now, I’m clinging to the remnants while she uncurls my fingers one at a time, desperate to claim her life for her own.
When my daughter comes of age, I’ll be fifty. How can that be? It just doesn’t make sense, especially when, in my head, I feel the same as I always have. Fifty sounds old, but that not how I feel. I feel youthful, filled with joy and excitement for all of the things yet to come.
Out of time?
I watched a movie at the weekend, Here, with Tom Hanks and Robin Wright. It follows the same piece of land, then subsequently the house built on it, throughout its history, from the dinosaur era to modern day. The message I took from it is this: Life is short. We are here for the blink of an eye. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
It reminded me to stop playing small. To take chances. That if you don’t try you’ll never know. That it’s better to fail than to regret a life half lived.
In the past, this reminder would have sent me spiralling. Panicked about all of the places I still haven’t been. Of all of things I am yet to do, or worse, might never do. I’ve been through periods like that. When it felt like I was running out of time. When I wanted to crawl out of my skin, knowing I wasn’t being true to myself. Aware but perhaps not fully appreciating that I was wasting my one wild and precious life. That I was ignoring my call to purpose.
Then, I still believed that what I needed could be found out there. I ran away from my thoughts, distracting myself with people and travel. I filled up, buying stuff I didn’t need. It was a long time before I understood that everything I need can be found in me.
Right on Time
This weekend, there was no angst. I didn’t book a holiday or shop online. Instead, I went to an exercise class with my sister, then enjoyed a roast (it was Mother’s Day here in the UK) with my family. Because that’s the other thing I took from the film. In the end, it’s the people you love who matter the most. If I have them, I can do without everything else.
And there’s a sense of peace that comes from knowing that, although it’s hard, I’m showing up to follow my dreams. Because of this, Monday mornings are much less of a grind. Even when it’s cold and dark.
Recently I’ve been wondering … what if I’m not behind schedule at all. What if, my life has gone exactly as it should have. What if, actually, I’m right on time.
