Learning that blogs are like the friends you think of two times a month, but call once every two years. Good intentions are great, but actions matter. – Sean Wiegert
Turned thirty-nine this past Wednesday. For just a bit that afternoon that feeling of “Whoa is me, I am getting older”. (Cry me a river.) “Life is passing me by..”.(Boo-Hoo). My knees hurt. Well, honestly that one is true and definitely no fun.
The first two sentiments were more to do with the fact that fifty-two weeks from today I am forty. 52 quick weeks. That wore heavily on my mind until I had a moment of clarity. Getting old is not “crazy”. It is wonderful.
The flow of time has been a theme of the blog so far, and an idea that has genuinely fascinated me for as long as I can remember. Fascination might have been more “frustration” as a kid. The real phenomenon of time grinding to crawl every December was something I perceived but never could quite put my finger on.
The chocolate filled advent calendar of my childhood was a torture device. Crafted by some lunatic who delighted in reminding me, my brother, cousins that we had 23 boring, loooonnnggg, days before we got new stuff! Sure chocolate was delicious but that 3 seconds of taste bud relief was hardly medication for the acute impatience of my youth.
Fast forward to this moment, typing these words at 5:10 cst March 20, 2015.
In this moment, 52 weeks from forty, looking at a calendar and thinking about Christmas induces a completely opposite, yet somehow equally as powerful perception of time.
TOO FAST! SLOW DOWN. NEED TIME TO BREATH!!
Hours, days as a child are now the pages in a flip book. The flip book where when your finger slips whole months just slap on by. Not that this will be an epiphany for those reading. The cliche nature of this sentiment undercuts just how powerful and pronounced the flow of time seemingly changes with age.
As of yesterday Kate has been in this world twenty-two weeks.Twenty-two incredible weeks flown by. Pretty crazy.
As of two days ago Sean has been in this world for two-thousand-twenty-eight weeks. Two-thousand-twenty-eight incredible weeks flown by. 2028!!! SUPER CRAZY
So week 2080 is right around the corner. The “Big 4-0”. The milestone likely to trigger my clinical mid-life crisis. Maybe Sarah will let me buy another Jeep so I can keep my sanity. (Pause for shot of whiskey, drink of beer, and single tear down my cheek).
Actually, you know what, scratch that:
(Pause for shot of whiskey, drink of beer, and single tear down my cheek).
How about pause and be thankful for all the laughs I have packed in to those 2028 weeks. Packed like the suitcase on my bachelor party, Overstuffed and unfolded, but packed non the less. How about pause and be thankful for the wisdom and patience my dad has shown me all these years. When I came in to the world both he and my mother were just over 1000 weeks in to life. (You do the math) DOUBLE SUPER CRAZY
Pause for my family, my friends, my life!
My next 52 weeks will not be some veggie-filled-advent-calendar-mind-prison. Not going to do it. My plan is to live the next 52 weeks, my next ANY weeks, with appreciation. Sincere appreciation. For the good and the bad. For the painfully stressful and powerfully uplifting. The ups, downs, middles, and anything else that comes my way. Why the diatribe? Why the rant?
In the middle of my “getting old sucks” introspection on Wednesday a thought occurred to me.
52 weeks from now I will have lived two full years longer than my mom. 2 years longer. 104 weeks longer. 728 days longer. 17472 hours longer. 1,048,320 minutes longer. 62,899,200 seconds longer.
Who the f**k am I to lament getting older?
Bring on 40.
Bring on life.