Time is a weird thing. Growing up in New England I’ve come to mostly measure time in seasons and school years. I take comfort in the changing seasons, there is a certain amount of predictability – even when the weather is all over the place. I can count on the changing of leaves and the pumpkin spice lattes. I can count on Bath and Body Works to have candles that smell like Christmas.
Looking back on everything I feel like Time is illusion. Is it moving in a linear fashion? Am I 5 and 13 and 22 as well as 32? Am I feeling these heartbreaks all over again and again because my heart it stuck in last September?
I always assumed that as an adult I would have Things “figured out”. (Didn’t we all?). I thought that time would make sense. That I would get used to the changing of seasons and they would just become a thing that happens. But no, every time the season changes for me two things happen: I lament time lost where I did not do Summer “enough”. I did not take advantage of the weather the “right” way. And also, I get excited and nostalgic. Especially for Fall as it is my favorite. For some reason it’s still littered in heartbreak. I bathe in nostalgia and try to pave my way through.
And yet here I am. Still working out the way time moves. Slowly, all at once…
Maybe not at all.
And of course, far too quickly.