There’s a sense that time is passing at an uncanny rate. I remind myself: no, this is just what happens in midlife. As a child, time was an impenetrable barrier, nothing sped up an hour. As a teen the same but with some consciousness. As a newly formed adult in my twenties, I was too busy being fabulous to notice. In my thirties I was neck-deep in caring for my babies. Time was something I never had enough of. Not on my own at least. I constantly had these happy campers with me. Years slipped by like pooh sticks under the bridge; fleeting. Bittersweet. Then to my forties, where I am now. Two types of time. When I have it – still a phenomemon that unnerves me, my children might be at school – I am free-wheeling, should-be-doing-something-more-useful but instead I am suspended, truanting. Then not enough time; watching them grow up, wishing to press ‘pause’. I notice that my commentary here refers to them and not me. Everything I think about myself is in relation to them. I commented to a friend yesterday that I spent 26 years on this earth as an individual before I became a mother. Why then won’t it be possible to shift back into that status when my children grow up? We looked at each other perplexed as we know: it doesn’t work that way.
I’m not sleeping well. I have deadlines looming, there’s a change coming. Decisions need to be made. Life – in its funny, imperceptible way has tilted on its axis and now I look forward and see uncertainty where before there was structure and form. My Masters will end this summer and I shall graduate. I will have achieved the objective; a book written, an academic mountain climbed. But then what? I am not sleeping well! It starts off alright but then I wake in the no-mans-land of 3am and am wide awake with ‘to do’ lists. I dreamt I was a ballerina and got the principal role. I then – due to a wardrobe malfunction – arrived late for the performance and the director was not happy. This smacks me as typical! I woke with questions: who was the director? Nameless faceless person I wanted to impress. Why did I not have the right ballet clothes? A tutu does not feature in my life. Why late? Because I was scrambling around trying to find ballet tights; an item of clothing I have not possessed since I was eight years old. During the 3am thought-fest I concluded that I was worried about missing my own show. This feeling of time slipping by and the instinct to pipe up and say: I’m not ready!!
Make of that what you will…
Meanwhile, it might just possibly be the end of winter some time soon and there might just possibly be a day where the sun shines all day and people smile. When daffodils are out, anything seems possible.