Not enough time

When I was a girl I didn’t understand the concept of time. I was immortal and invincible. I used my time to escape from the reality of my childhood. I had too much time on my hands. Time was a foreign concept.

When I was a young woman I thought I had all the time in the world. Time to be silly and get drunk. Time to try new things, time to waste on pointless relationships. Time to find the man meant for me…eventually, that is. But first I had unlimited time to play, discover, and experiment. Or so I thought. 

When I became a wife and a mom, I had no time to chase after dreams or goals. I selfishly hoarded any free time I had, as if moms have such a thing. I put aside time to pray, figuring I would get to it when I was older and not so busy. I spent all my time on children and marriages and work. I looked forward to all the time I would gain when the children were grown and I was retired. Time to learn things like playing piano and learning a new language. Time to make amends to the people I hurt. Time to teach my children about Jesus. Time to lose weight and get fit. Time to get in touch with friends. Time to understand who I was. 

Now I am retired. My kids are grown. They have kids of their own...but they don’t have an excess of time. They think I have a lot of free time. I spend my time mourning wasted time, lost time. I try to get my children to carve out time for me. I want meaningful time with my spouse. I squeeze too many things into small increments of time. I’m trying to learn Mandarin Chinese. I bought a keyboard and am making time to teach myself piano. I spend a lot of time making things for the ones I love. I spend time with God. I volunteer my time to help children learn to read. Time is so precious now. It is moving too quickly. 

I spend too much time on regrets. I wander through the days, months, and years, searching for a moment in time. Searching for a glimmer of recognition in another person’s eyes, hoping our eyes would meet and I would be immediately understood. I watch the march of time across my face, body, skin, and mind. Time is honest. Unkind, true, but time tells the truth. 

I have so little time now. I’m obsessed with opening a window, even simply parting the curtains to allow those in my life a brief yet meaningful glimpse into my life. To leave some remnants of myself, a short time here on earth, for others to see, learn from, and add to. I think about how, or if, time will be measured when I die. Or is time merely some ethereal wisp, abstract and impossible to grasp? 

Do you know what is so unfair? We spend our whole lives learning and living, and when we have gained wisdom and insight and can see things more clearly, we are running out of time.