I am currently sitting, enjoying the peace of the house. The TV’s are off, the lights are dimmed. I’m alone with my thoughts, as is typical these nights. While I do enjoy my quiet time, thoughts have been coming in heavily of late. Thoughts of the past, thoughts of the future, thoughts of life, etc. I’m familiar with a great many facts of life, and understand them, but I think what I didn’t realize is just how little being aware and mindful really helps when certain stages of existence come to pass.
As the sands of time continue to drizzle down into the bottom of the hour glass, I find myself missing that which has passed more and more, a feeling that’s only exacerbated by watching my kids grow. We work so hard to help them along and teach them the things they will need to know to stay happy, healthy, etc… and then we all look back and wish they were babies again. I suppose that’s what perpetuates the species.
It may sound a little melodramatic at this point in my life, where my children are 17 months and 5 years old, but I swear it happened so fast, that I can already see the next twenty years flashing by only just slightly more slowly.
People say that time goes by faster as you age, and although my over-inflated sense of logic would love to try to argue the point, it’d be a waste of time. As I sit here, a single year represents 1/31 of my life… If you cut a pie into 31 slices, each slice would be bigger than those in a pie cut in 32 equal pieces. Each year, our pie slices get smaller and less noticeable. Thus, the length of a year becomes less noticeable.
I’m not looking for answers by posting this, as I know that realistically, there are none. I just felt like writing and this is what happened to be on my mind at the time. I realize the only thing to do is sit back and enjoy the ride. The tricky part is interpreting each pit stop as an opportunity commit things to memory, and not an inconvenience. I’ve been saying “You’ll miss it when it’s gone” a lot lately, especially when I’m telling my oldest not to do something I’ve told her not to do a hundred times before, or picking up pieces of half-chewed food, or reaching for a sippy cup full of cheese that’d rolled beneath the couch last week… it helps to keep things in perspective.
Do you get the same sorts of pangs nostalgia? What do you do to soften the blow?