Time and Its Rate of Change

 White Avens ( Avens canadense ). Quite possibly one of the sweetest, most overlooked wildflowers. Old fields, edges, open woods, unkempt lawns.

White Avens (Avens canadense). Quite possibly one of the sweetest, most overlooked wildflowers. Old fields, edges, open woods, unkempt lawns.

“I think I am getting boring,” I tell a friend.

“No!” she exclaims. “I don’t think so.”

“I do.”

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Once I hit my teens, there was no differentiating one summer from the next. I can distinctly recall a few specific summers with significant goings on - concerts, crushes, vehicles, friendships, transitions, living quarters, jobs. If I put my mind to it, I could come up with something marking each summer.

Upon becoming a mother, I began to mark time differently. Time became based around my child’s milestones and mine own as a mother. My rate of change slowed, as my son’s took off. I was stabilizing to take on the destabilizing changes of mothering. Even before becoming a mother, life changed. I was stabilizing in preparation to become a mother, not purposeful way because I didn’t want to become a mother until shortly before I chose to be one.

Prior to the slow down, I had moved about once every year or year and a half. My employment changed at that rate or even faster. Then, I found myself in one place for about seven years. I had the same job for about five. In the midst, I became a mother.

Suddenly, time has done this funny thing. An alarming thing. It is going fast. Very fast. Not just because I have a child who is developing and changing and growing everyday, but because time is ripping by.

I still have that sense I’ve had since my son was born, “Slow down, hurry up, I can’t keep up with you.” He’s way out in the ocean paddling, or way up the trail pedaling fast. I am lagging behind. This summer is the last of its kind. It was no more or less eventful than any other. I just have a different feeling about it.

Holy h/ll, I am getting older, is what I am trying to say. Time is going fast.