time

One time in eighth grade my writing teacher, a genius of a woman, asked each of us to define time. It seemed like an easy enough topic, but as I sat there watching my cursor blink on and on I realized the only thing about time that was certain was no one could rightfully define it.

These days when the topic of time comes up it relates to the fact that there is never enough of it—we always need more hours in a day, more time to sleep, more time on vacation, more time in bed, more time snuggled against the one we love.

But really, when you look at time, when you think of it as measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, years and then lifetimes, there is so very much of it. Lives are led in within the boundaries of time. Dreams come to fruition, love flourishes; knowledge is gained, all with these within benchmarks of time.

I have started to think of my life in compartments. There are all these blocks of time: high school and then college and then gap year home followed by one year abroad in Mali ending with me sitting here at this dorm desk in northern Michigan. It all seems to fit nicely, to start and end in a timely fashion and give me diversity in any resume.

And yet.

The funny thing with time is that it leaves memories. That today becomes something you think about in just a short twenty-four hours. That you become molded by your experiences and each moment reshapes and forms you into a different person. You evolve, you move forward. You follow time.

March 9, 2012.

The day I came home.

The day I got off a plane from Atlanta that came from Paris that came from Bamako. I landed in San Diego tired and sore and in half an African outfit.

It’s funny to think about it now, but I remember it all. I remember giving my parents the wrong landing date and freaking out they wouldn’t be there. I remember being haunted by leaving and yet so excited about the possibility of family and laughter and English I was about ready to bust. I was apprehensive about coming back. But it felt safe. And it felt comfortable. And it felt like for the first time in months, I was going to be ok.

In the three hundred and sixty five days since that moment I have become a combination of my pre and post Peace Corps selves. Sure, I love expensive clothes and online shopping and make up, but I still consider showers and shaved legs a luxury. Even though I have residence hall washer and dryer I love them dearly because washboards are not for wimps.

It’s an amazing thing to watch an experience shift your life, change your behavior, and alter your thinking. That’s what happened to me. That’s what continues. It’s in all the stories I tell, it’s in what I read, and how I communicate.

At the end of the day, time is limitless and boundless.

You want to change the world. Do it.

You want to snuggle for five more minutes. Go for it.

You want the peace. Find it.

So…what are you going to do today?

image of Musee D'Orsay Clock
to read my post a year ago