I sit at the doctor’s office, in the waiting room. When I arrive, people are bustling about, coming and going, making noise. As I wait here, however, everything seems to slow down and get quieter, as though I have been dunked underwater. Time stretches out, making the wait seem unbearably long.
I’m in a concert, avidly listening to an interesting new piece and lush sounds, watching the musicians work, eyes roving all over the stage. All of a sudden it’s over. Done. The final chord played. Where did it go?
Time is so malleable and fluid. Depending on what we are doing, even the same period of time moves at different speeds. The doctor only made me wait twenty minutes, and the piece of music was about twenty minutes long. It’s just our perception and level of interest that changes. In fact, if one of my girls was with me at the doctor’s and the concert, they might have had a reverse response to the time spent.
I look at my grown up daughter and still see the toddler I used to be able to pick up. Wasn’t it just last week that I signed her up for Kindergarten? Bought clothes in the 4-6x department? Marveled as she learned how to ride a bike? Paid for her braces? It seems like it’s the biggest chunks of time that move the fastest. Sort of a Doppler effect – appearing to approach slowly and then shooting by in a rush, looking worlds different from this side of it.
It doesn’t seem fair that days drag but years fly by. It’s probably a good idea to grab on to those days then, and make them count.