It’s weird thinking about the passage of time.
Did you ever notice that, when you were little, you just couldn’t wait to grow up? You’d get anxious for time to pass because it always seemed to be moving so
s l o w l y.
Then there comes a place, a moment, an age…when the sands turn. Suddenly, you don’t have to wait: you are grown up. You’re not a little kid. And time? Well, it’s not moving so slowly anymore. In fact, the older you get, the more it seems like time is continuously speeding up and you’re left pulling on the brakes, digging your feet into the ground, and trying to take everything in before it passes you by.
It’s weird thinking about the passage of time.
When you are younger, it seems like time is measured in one of two ways. It’s either summertime or it’s school time. Big blocks to distinguish everything from everything else. And these big blocks are broken apart, of course, by your Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays.
“This Wednesday is the track meet!”
“Last summer we went to the Grand Canyon!”
It’s all easy enough to keep track of.
Now, though, it seems like time is measured a little bit differently. It isn’t really recorded in days or those easy summertime/school time blocks of our youth; those are simply markers, labels. Instead, time is measured in moments and significant events - particularly, in firsts and in lasts.
First kisses.
Last goodbyes.
Last day of high school.
First day of college.
First time we met.
Last time I saw your face.
And it seems that once you’ve turned that leaf, you base everything around the big moments and events that have happened, or that are going to happen.
I’ve been reflecting a lot about time, lately.
Here’s what I’ve gathered so far:
When you’re young, time is endless. There is always enough; you never run out. And it’s spread out endlessly before you: a blank slate, a white page.
As you get older, though, time is suddenly a priority because there seems to be so little of it. The slate is chiseled; the page marked upon.
But in spite of all that, it doesn’t mean we have any less time, really.
Not when you get down to it.
The only difference between youth and age - in this case, at least - is perspective.
If you feel like time is slipping through your fingers…
well, clasp your hands and hold on tight.
Because you know what?
We’ve got all the time in the world.
We just have stop, breathe, and take a look around.
Did you ever notice that, when you were little, everything you encountered seemed so fresh?
Every sunset, every sunrise, ever shooting star. Every laugh, every tear. Every shopping adventure, every pancake breakfast, every Christmas morning. Every school dance, every locker jam. Every fireworks show, every pop quiz, every skate city birthday party.
It was all yours, brand new, to experience.
To experience for the first time.
Somewhere along the way, those “every times” became “the routine.” And it became easier to just go through the motions than to appreciate all the things, however little, that made up the day-to-day. But even something you’ve done a hundred times can be just as beautiful as it was in the very beginning. Especially if you have a genuine effort to look at the world that way.
A lot of people prescribe to the idea of living each day as if it were the last.
I think the real excitement would be in living each day as if it were the first.
Because as children, life and everything in it was absolutely infinite.
So as adults, we have to live for the moments in which we feel like everything is. 
