Skip to main content

Taking Stock

A new year is fast approaching. Can you feel it sneaking up on you? It wears socks so that you don't realize it is so very close until it pounces, knocking all the air out so that you are forced to exhale.

Funny how we take an accounting at the end of the year instead of stopping along the way to shift our course. Well, at least I do. I notice the time going by, the quickness of it, the fleeting moments that vanish like snowflakes on a too-warm day. But it is now, in the final week of a waning year, when I really start to see how much has changed. Or how much has stayed the same.

In the year I was turning 30 (not this year but last) my biggest goal was to get fit. Not thin, or skinny or any of those things. I'm genetically coded not to be those things I think. (Or perhaps I tell myself so to make me feel better.) I fell pitifully, woefully short. Do you want to know what happened? At the start of the summer I dropped 15 lbs without really trying. I just did it. And then someone noticed and commented on how great I looked. I immediately found my lost 15 lbs and never let them go again. Because someone looked at me, saw me, noticed changes. It was frightening.

Last year I set the same goal and still haven't reached it. It's like a twinkling star just outside my peripheral vision. When I turn my head just so, it sparkles but then it vanishes before I can pin it down.

I have other goals and dreams.

Go back to school. Learn another language and speak/understand it. Take a photography class or a cooking class. Enroll Carly in dance. Get Josh into fencing. All dreams on a shelf that tease me and flicker just out of reach.

But I'm still grabbing for them with at least one open hand.

So, now, as the year winds down I sit and think of those things. Their lack is a dark pit in my stomach, a void I know I need to fill. The questions of whys and hows seem to block out the path, but somehow in 2009 I've got to push my way through.

Because time never stops. No matter the outcome of your schemes and dreams, time pushes onward and drags you with it.

That seems kind of depressing.

But, even if we do get dragged along in that never-ending march, we always get to start again. Every day, every year, every moment, every thought is a blank page on which to write.

A fresh breath.

Comments

Pam said…
I say you and I take night courses at the local college together.

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…

Dear Carly (on your 9th birthday),

I can't remember what it is like to turn nine years old.  From watching you turn nine, it must have been difficult because it seems like everything is either really, really greator really, really bad.  Some days I think I might get whiplash from the mood swings (and you're not a teenager yet!).   But overall, I think nine must also be really wonderful.  You seem to be full of joy, even moments after being full of woe.  It's as if the joy just pushes the other stuff out.  It practically oozes from your pores.  More than that, on the days you choose to be happy, the whole world sings with you.  People are infected by it, drawn in to your sweet smile and shining eyes.  Attracted like bugs to a light.  You shine, dear little diva, so brightly sometimes it's blinding.

We just spent three weeks together in California, and I must have complained too much about your behavior because your dad believes we are oil and water right now.  I'd prefer to see us as oil and vinegar …