Seasons of Love

525,600 minutes
525,000 moments so dear
525,600 minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

Okay, so, here I sit, about an hour before my official birthday. I'm one of those freaks who ages on the day -- I never say I'm "almost 39" or that "I'm 38 and a half". Nope, right now, I'm 38, and tomorrow, I'll be 39. I've been wondering lately, as I usually do, what I'm supposed to know by now; after all, I'm THIRTY NINE. That seems like a number that has wisdom, and yet, I still know nothing, but feel like I have even less time to figure it all out!

Here's what I've learned over the last 525,600 minutes. I've learned that one of the biggest ironies of life is that the older you get, the more time flies. I can't remember the last time I wished for the future. Even the weekends get here faster, and fly faster than ever before. There's no longer a part that drags, like the month of May right before summer vacation, or what seemed like the endless first 25 days of December. No, it all absolutely flies by at a blinding pace. I used to think that it was having a kid - having a living breathing creature that grows and is constantly reminding you of the passage of time, but I suspect that even if we were still childless, I'd still feel like time is flying. And honestly? I want to stop it. I feel so childish wishing for it, but I do. I want to slow the passage of time so that I can experience moments in the moment and not think...gosh, that was fun. I think that's why I find it all so ironic - I sure wish I had this wisdom when I had 10-week summer vacations!

I spend a lot more time wondering if I'm living my best life. If I'm doing right by Alex, Walter, my staff at work, my career, and wonder if it's all fallen into place. I have a good life; no, I have a blessed life, but I think I may have stumbled onto what causes midlife crises in folk -- it's the realization that there's just not enough time. I think that's why people go a little nuts at this stage of the game -- leaving their families, buying shiny cars, bigger boobs, whatever. I think it's very easy to try and stop the passage of time by going back and re-doing some of our bigger regrets. But time does indeed keep marching on. And as that sage Dolly Parton pointed out, it' s "marching across your face" (though a lovely item called Dr. Feelgood by Benefit will hide those creases!)

I can't figure out if you have more flashbacks when you get older because you have more memories, or if you flashback because you just can't believe there's so many more years between then and now. I can so clearly remember bringing Alex home, and how tiny and helpless he looked in the bassinet, then he looked tiny in his crib, then his bed. It seems like yesterday, and yet upstairs right now sleeps a child who looks more like a boy and less like a baby than he ever has. And, at 3'2", he looks right at home in that bed.

I've decided that I'm no longer counting my birthdays in years. Don't worry, I'm not going to be one of those people who says "I''m having the 25th anniversary of my 39th birthday", or some such bullsh!t like that. No, I think I'm going to start measuring my age in joy. In wisdom. In laughter. In smiles. In the generosity of friends. I'm going to measure it by the times that I feel a warmth that starts in the tiniest part of my soul that reminds me that life is a gift. I may ultimately be a lot older that way, but also a lot richer. I'm a truly blessed individual. I'm not saying that my life is not without its challenges, without questions, but ultimately, when I stand back and survey the landscape of my entire life, there is so much that makes me grateful, and so much that inspires me to do more. To be more. I'm not sure what I did to deserve my life, but I'll roll with it.