I am a mother and, while what I share here doesn’t focus on motherhood per se, I am forever colored by that experience. If you’ve been with me for a while, you know this.
Having just celebrated my daughter’s twelfth birthday and my son’s sixteenth, I am shaking my head and nursing my heart at the turn of calendar pages, at the trips around the sun. Discussions of time keep coming to me. Perhaps this shouldn’t surprise me…much of what I write/photograph points to a conscious consideration and celebration of the minutes in one’s day. And yet, I am surprised. Messages tucked into a novel, an Instagram photo, a question posed, an overheard conversation. Even this post, which I wrote yesterday, surprised me in its shape.
The clock is ticking. I don’t necessarily feel pressure in that; perhaps it’s more a degree of tension. How could I not? How could you not? Time shapes our days, providing framework for what needs doing and what actually gets done. It opens space for certain activities and closes it for others. There are only so many hours in a day, after all.
In a fairly banal manner, I will say that time is a funny thing. When I dive to the core of it, as a mother, I will say of time (as I wrote in the post linked above): In the middle of the night, it can seem fearfully long; on your child’s sixteenth birthday, it can seem frightfully short.
I think about the passage of time, both in a day and over the decades. I think about the choices I make (and, as I write this, I am clear on the inherent privilege I enjoy in making choices) (indeed). I think about the way life seems to balance itself out. And I don’t mean balance as in a goal to achieve or a state of zen. I mean balance as a fact of life. Like a seesaw that constantly teeters, like the ocean’s surface that undulates in waves, like the seasons of nature cycling. Balance as movement. Balance as gentle continuance. Balance as stumbling and picking oneself up again.
And I want to say that I know it’s hard. Sometimes it’s hard to make choices (even understanding the privilege of choice, it’s still hard); sometimes it’s hard to embrace the notion of time. I want you to know that, although what I share here and on Instagram may give the appearance that I’m zen and smooth, I assure you that my feathers get ruffled. I live by the same time constraints as you.
Yes, time is a funny thing.
Sending a little love your way, m