We talk about time as though it were a place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Behind us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Ahead of us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Running out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Saving it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Wasting it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But time does not seem particularly interested in our vocabulary.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It keeps going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A child becomes taller.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Bread becomes stale.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A wound becomes a scar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A conversation becomes a memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The present arrives and immediately becomes something else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You cannot hold it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You can only be in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This can be frightening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We spend enormous amounts of energy trying to return to moments that are already gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If only I had said something different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If only I had stayed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
If only I had left sooner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The past is full of doors that no longer open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But there is another strange thing about time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It does not only take.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It also makes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A seed becomes a tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A stranger becomes a friend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Practice becomes skill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Grief becomes memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A collection of ordinary days becomes a life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Time changes the shape of things.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes slowly enough that we don’t notice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then one day we look in the mirror and realize we have been becoming someone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not necessarily the person we planned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just someone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Perhaps this is why the present matters so much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It is the only part of the river you can actually touch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You cannot step into yesterday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tomorrow has not arrived.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There is only this particular patch of water moving beneath your feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That does not mean planning is useless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It means plans belong to the present too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You prepare now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You choose now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You apologize now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You rest now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You begin now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The future is built out of these small moments that don’t look important while you are inside them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And the past?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The past can still teach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It just cannot be edited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Perhaps acceptance is partly learning to stop negotiating with what has already happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not approving of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not pretending it was good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just recognizing that the river has already carried that piece of water downstream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You can remember it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You can mourn it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You can learn from it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You cannot swim backward and retrieve it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Fancy Dust seems unusually comfortable with this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It has no known schedule.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It appears wherever it pleases.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Perhaps this is because Fancy Dust understands something we keep forgetting:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Nothing stays still.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not even the glitter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So maybe we don’t need to catch time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Maybe we only need to notice where we are.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The river is moving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
You are in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
For now\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n
that is enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We talk about time as though it were a place. Behind us. Ahead of us. Running out. Saving it. Wasting it. But time does not seem particularly interested in our vocabulary. It keeps going. A child becomes taller. Bread becomes stale. A wound becomes a scar. A conversation becomes a memory. The present arrives and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-347","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n