I wasted time, and now doth time

waste me

William Shakespeare

A couple of weeks ago when the United States set their clocks ahead one hour to observe Daylight Savings, I kind of laughed at the grousing that came on Sunday morning. While I am firmly in the camp of “these time changes suck”, I am also not one to hold back on laughing a bit at other people’s crankiness.

And then this continent changed its clocks today (well, most places did). I went to bed late on Saturday night—later than I normally do—and of course woke up this morning to an hour even less than what normally would have when we shifted to ora legale. Ugh. This sucks. Now it was my time to enjoy this fantastic forced circadian rhythm change. People are certainly welcome to snicker at my bad humor.

But while the time change is happening, we are also being served up a consolation prize in that the flower buds on the trees have come out. You can see the green leaves starting to dot the branches like some first grader’s attempt at pointillism. Fava beans are starting to crop up in supermarkets (although I don’t yet see the side of the road trucks offering crops of the bumpy green pods that somehow pair so perfectly with Pecorino Romano cheese.  

As each year does tend to feel a bit redundant, I am noticing changes along the way. It’s not just the world around us, but each of us see things differently. Feel things differently. Or maybe we’re just feeling different in a cumulative way that lets us know that time is passing. We are aging. Our bodies slowly fall apart.

I have to feel sure that most people wake up each morning and move through their seasons while conducting a continuous body scan of sorts. What’s working today? Or better…what’s working better today? What’s not working? Does it cross the threshold of medical attention, and if I’m not sure if it does…what are the chances that I just tolerate it and it calms down enough to be overtaken by other bodily complaints. 

Getting old is great. I say that with both a genuine sentiment as well as sarcastic one. On the one hand, it’s really nice to age out of giving a fuck about things that used to bother you. Choosing where to spend your capital and then dispensing when you have weighed it out as worthwhile in telling people what you think. You might not always turn out in the right, but as you get old, you’re far more willing to make that wager.  

The sarcasm of “great aging” of course pertains to the one sore shin. The reality that you are no longer willing or able to eat everything that you once did. You can insert whatever personal HIPAA details you want in here for yourself…but there is plenty about getting older that is not fun to digest. 

Just like changing with the twice a year time shifts, you’ve got to keep a good humor about it all. Actually, the time changes are mandated by legislation so it could actually be changed. But the body failing in slow motion running on its own season—that cannot really be rectified. It’s just a fact of what we’re all going through.  

Each life has its share of heroism, an obscure heroism, born of abdication, of renunciation and acceptance under the merciless whip of fate.

Mariama Bâ

As I get older and continue to grind my body down year after year, I develop an ever more ardent appreciation for the folks ahead of me. Two weeks ago, I was chatting with a dear friend of mine on the west coast of the United States. She’s about 25 years older than me but honestly that has only ever been relevant on the rare odd occasion (and mainly when I have encountered something that she’d already lived through). This time though, we enjoyed a lighthearted chat that was laced with serious illness and dramatic shifts in how she could live the life that she was accustomed to. I say “lighthearted” only because of her ability to tell me serious things while also maintaining a practical “if you’re not laughing, then you’re crying,” attitude. I love her very much for many reasons, and this only added to that great love. 

So I started out

For God knows where

I guess I’ll know

When I get there

Tom Petty

There is something about the human ability to maintain a sense of humor while the seasons around them are now changing faster than the rest of the world. I say ability like it is something that we are born with and develop—and it is. But it’s not exactly the kind of ability that we are keen to cultivate. Not like 5AM track workouts that you sign up for and ultimately become stronger for doing. No, it’s rather like you wake one morning and you are presented with a new reality. One that you can’t ignore and one that you have to start to learn to care for…. all the while knowing that the end result is not going to be some kind of marathon finish line medal.

I tend to hesitate to write when my mood is not that great. I don’t want to create the perception that the days are filled with anxiety over what is to come. I mean, sure there is anxiety about life and the fact that I only have a set (yet unknown) number of these stupid time changing evolutions to endure…. but I feel as though I know how to manage that well. As for the rest of it, the gradual diminishing of one’s daily constitution…well I have no clue how I’ll deal with that. I’ll probably be more than grouchy about it all. But I can’t control how I feel, or how things will unwind. For today, my only focus is on settling my body into this new perception of changing hour.