I think I’ve got a pretty solid relationship with time. I respect it, try not to waste it and appreciate the power it can wield over situations which may initially appear unchangeable. Although it may sometimes deservedly own its spot on a list of four-letter words, generally speaking, me and time are good. There are occasions when it moves at a rate of speed that may seem too fast or too slow, but, like many other uncontrollable elements of our proscribed lives, I find it best to accept it and do my best to work within its parameters. (Despite my being pissed off twice a year when we manipulate the clocks as we did this morning.)
If you’re under the impression that time moves too slowly as the greyness of March creeps along like a melting glacier, let me give you a photographic example of what a difference a mere week makes.
|last week, trees encased in ice|
|today, my little patch of earth coming alive|
It’s been a long autumn/winter with lots of snow, both literal and figurative, swirling around in my life. I entered the season most typically related to hibernation and, instead of slowing down and becoming dormant, I opted to renew my commitment to having a life well lived. I realized yesterday that I’ve made it to the city at least once each month since October – a real feat for me, one that I swear soothes my soul while stimulating my brain, every single time. Not to be a bummer, but I need to have another little piece of something removed from my neck later this month. I am convinced that this will be the last time this will be necessary because after months of turmoil, and years of repressing the struggle between my heart and my head, I feel like my internal compass is in accord with the direction I am facing – forward. The procedure is scheduled for the last day of March, which makes me happy. I can turn the page on the calendar, confident that time has worked its magic, and am incredibly excited about what the future offers. Don’t go anywhere – there are definitely more tricks up my sleeve!