TIME was infinite when I was a child, sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed and staring into space, imagining…
TIME was a box of limited-number assigned nuggets to be rationed when I worked my way through college doing tiny jobs around classes–an hour here, an hour there–and evenings as a waitress.
TIME was the Sargent of my life as a public school teacher, designating what I should do, when I should do it, how I should do it, and where.
TIME was a convenient way to control the passing minutes when I was a workaholic professor participating in a time-management study, logging for weeks how we spent every minute throughout every day, ultimately proving to our benefactors that, yeah, professors really do work hard. I quickly learned how to slow time with my mind, with intention.
TIME was never enough when I was with someone I loved; for some reason, intention to have more time always failed me then.
TIME was incredibly long when I was with someone who just didn’t get it, someone who wanted to feel wounded or angry or offended or slighted or simply was aching to fight–with anyone about anything.
TIME is enough now, finally having learned to screen my experience for joy.
Invitation:
What does TIME mean for you?
Till next time, please be kind to everyone you meet for we all have our hidden sorrows. ~Tzaddi
skatingthru2012 