Time flies…when you’re a grown up.
Seriously, how is it April?
Not just the beginning of April – but the middle of April.
We seem to have moved through this year faster than Matthew Mcconaughey can zip through time in that ridiculous syfy adventure InterStellar (now that was two hours of my life I will never get back although watching Matthew Mccwhatshisface is always a pleasure, maybe though next time on mute).
Pop on your rose-tinted glasses for a moment and cast your mind back…to the good old days.
Do you remember those halcyon days when you were growing up when the school holidays lasted forever, day after day of time to kill, to watch paint dry, to ponder whether you should get on your grifter or play another game of squash the red spider.
Now, it’s just one giant blur, one day careering into the next at warp speed. One minute it’s Christmas and then I blink and all of a sudden the May blossom is greeting me with a high five to hayfever.
And then this morning the epiphany.
I realised. It’s cos I is old. I’m a grown-up…it’s happened. Peter Pan has flown the nest and the future is here, or was here, it’s now hurtling into yesterday and we’re hightailing it towards tomorrow – or something..but whatever it is, it’s going blinkin fast.
Make. It. Stop.
There’s not enough instgram pics to post to remember the moments as time swirls by – as my babies turn from small toddling towers of destruction into well … bigger towers of destruction if my garden is anything to go by…
I want to get off.
I want to slow time. Apart from the fact I am not yet prepared to admit I am (ahem) forty-something (in my head I will always be 33 years old), I want to slow time to appreciate every single second of this chaos.
I want to be able to while away the days with my small things (wine in hand obviously) and I want to idly mooch from day to day.
But here’s the conundrum – when I have a moochy day, I feel like I have wasted it. I feel like I have wasted time.
When on Sunday I lay on the couch and drooled, I mean watched, Matthew Mcwhatshisface space jump through time, I feel like I have wasted a day.
The day before we had climbed Catbells in the Lakes, the day before that we had walked round Ingleton Falls, the day before I’d worked, the day before something else had happened. I was craving a day of nothingness – and then when it happened, it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right just whiling away time.
It seems when we ‘do’ time moves ever so fast, but when we ‘don’t’ we wish we were doing…
Does time get faster as we get older, does time spin out of control as we realise how precious it is – does it become something that feels just that little bit out of reach because we are constantly trying to catch up.
Do we avoid slowing down, because if we do then we have to accept our acceleration into our middle youth*?
Of course, I have none of the answers to this conundrum, I have searched for the crack in time so I can sneak back and forth to remind my younger self to cherish that moment in time..but I can’t find it.
I do have wine though – and in the absence of time travel, I shall pour myself a small glass** of wine and stop – stop just for a moment – stop and look around and watch the clouds cruise lazily cross the sky.
Now where’s my grifter?