Lately Jacob's been talking a lot about wanting to fast-forward time and skip ahead to spring. Sometimes it's because of school, and sometimes it's just because he wants good weather to play basketball outside whenever he wants. I can't say I blame him most of the time. I'm already pretty sick of the cold and snow (though dare I say I'm currently handling it better than usual--but don't quote me on that in March), I look forward to only packing one lunch for a couple months, and skipping over some very challenging work projects doesn't sound half bad.
But then again, it's a terrible habit to get into, this wishing away of time. As a parent of two growing boys, I know that all too well. It may not feel like it in the middle of a typical work day, but time is flying by. My baby will be seven in less than a month and Jacob is turning into such a big kid right before my eyes every day. I know I've spent a good chunk of their childhoods wishing away time--sometimes entire difficult phases, but most often it's something as simple as wanting to skip over work to get home to them. But then I also wish away the evening amidst sibling battles or the dinner rush to get to bedtime so I can enjoy a little "me time" or downtime with Craig. And before you know it, another week, month, or year has passed and we're that much closer to the end of this phase of our lives. Most days I can't believe I'm over 40 and I'm at ages where I vividly remember my own parents. It's all pretty surreal, but the passing of time is becoming really apparent.
I may have mentioned this here before, but when I was in college, I read a book about Christian dating (either "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" or "True Love Waits"--not sure which) and despite my frustration with the book topic (putting off romantic relationships was tough for my low-self-esteem self when boy attention was already elusive), it had a story that stuck with me. It was about a ball with a string inside, and with each pull of the string, time would fast-forward. The character in the story was constantly pulling the string to get through the boring parts of life, and before he knew it, he was out of string and his life was over. Little did he realize that all of those mundane moments added up to a significant part of his life, even if they weren't particularly exceptional as they were happening. I think we'd all have a tendency to do the same, honestly, and I try to remember that in the boring, difficult moments so I don't wish them away.
Thinking back on my life, I do think my memories validate that phenomenon, that the seemingly insignificant moments are more significant than they seem. I've realized in recent years that the most typical warm-fuzzy memories I have of both my childhood and my time in college tend to be more about those mundane moments. When I look at the typical chaos of my evenings at home now, I oddly long for quiet nights at my parents' house, usually with the kitchen lights low and the dishwasher running, my parents watching TV and reading the paper in the family room, and me finishing up homework in time to join them before a favorite show starts. I'm sure my brother was in the mix somewhere, too, probably blasting music in his room or joining us later for TV. But clearly there were a lot of nights like that--unexceptional but apparently fulfilling enough to be oddly comforting years later. College is much the same, with my recollections being of quiet afternoons and evenings spent studying, me on my bed and Mary on hers, books in hand. There were periodic conversations when we'd come across something particularly bizarre in whatever we were reading, or when we'd had enough and just had to complain as we grabbed a snack. Sometimes we had music playing in the background, or in later years it was usually the TV, often showing afternoon soaps or talk shows, or sitcoms in the evening. I had a lot of other fun memories from college, but those mundane moments often stick out anyway.
It's tough trying to explain to an 11-year-old that normal life is significant and special in its own right. Heck, some days I have a hard time remembering it, despite all of this personally experienced evidence to the contrary. He's just waiting for his life to start, without even realizing how much he's already lived. I know school is boring (so is work), and I know he pretty much lives for basketball and when he can play it next. I didn't have anything quite that all-encompassing back when I was his age so I'm not sure what I lived for, if anything, that made everything else pale in comparison. I did cheerleading and was just wrapping up my stint in acrobatics back then, and I certainly enjoyed both, but not to the degree that he obsesses about basketball. But I'm sure I at least wanted to fast-forward through the awkwardness of braces, bad hair, and questionable clothes. I certainly wanted to speed through my homework and phases of being bullied mercilessly. So, I get it. It probably doesn't help that our home life isn't exactly peaceful, either. Maybe he won't have memories of quiet evenings at home because most of ours include numerous tiffs between the boys that put everyone on edge. I really hope those aren't the moments he takes from his childhood, but I'm not sure how to fix it right now either.
It occurred to me this morning that the desire to wish away time probably indicates some lack of faith that there will be something important or exciting within that time that we'd miss out on. If it seems like most of our days are without any sort of fun or significant action, how much would we actually miss if we skipped some? We're probably all quick to wish away the week to get to the weekend, or wish away months to get to a long-awaited vacation, but given the actual opportunity, how many of us would actually do it, and what might we foolishly miss along the way? It's easy to think that I'd want to skip the rest of winter to get to spring, but then I'd miss Carter's birthday at the very least. I'm sure I'd miss another milestone or two, and probably a lot of little happy moments in between. God forbid, but skipping time could also mean sacrificing final moments with someone who passes away unexpectedly, or missing the last moments of "normalcy" before a death, illness, or significant life change (i.e., like when Jacob was diagnosed with Celiac Disease, or time with my old co-workers before I lost my last job). We'd unknowingly miss those moments, as there's really no way to know what moments might be significant. It often takes hindsight to realize the importance after other things have happened. So we really just need to take each moment as it comes, savor what we can, and try to manage the less exciting or more difficult ones.
This is all hypothetical, of course, as we can't really fast-forward time. But I think we do tend to gloss over the importance of the mundane moments in our normal life, which is probably almost as effective as skipping them altogether. We get lost in the boredom and subconsciously stop being an active participant in our daily lives. I think in most cases we're merely trying to survive and we don't realize what we're witnessing in the moment or what its significance may be later. I'm as guilty of it as anyone, and I'm not sure how to fix it. I try to be mindful, and to remind Jacob to take things day-by-day, but I'm by no means perfect. But at least I'm trying. I may want to fast-forward some days, but most of the time recently I think I'm smart enough to remember the story of the ball and string and try to appreciate what I have. I need to get better at making the most of those days in addition to just appreciating they exist, but I guess it'll always be a process. In the meantime, I'll just keep reminding Jacob to appreciate this time because before he knows it, he'll be a 40-something himself. It won't work, but I'll try. And in the meantime, spring will be here soon enough.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment