60 seconds

My friend Elizabeth writes in her blog, Boy Crazy, that she is going to try to make each minute last 60 seconds. I like this, because I often let life fly by me, and then I turn around and realize that I’ve been missing out on so much of it. I don’t sit in the moment and let it be what it is. Instead I think about how I got there, or what I could’ve done differently. Or I think about what I’m going to be doing, or should be doing, and I miss the moments that I’m living in. I’ve been doing this a lot lately, and I live less peacefully because of it.




I’ve been feeling like life is going on without me. Part of it is that this particular space in my life is not what I thought it was going to be. My daughters are growing up, and are so very, very busy. They bury their no-longer-little noses down into homework, and continually stay after school for meetings and practices. They have practices for sports, or they are with friends at movies or just goofing off. They are texting on their phones. As middle school students, this is how it should be. And being that they are both honor roll students and so responsible with their time and commitments, I give them the freedom to text and hang out with friends. What amazes me is that they keep track of their own schedules; they are prepared for school and extracurricular activities without my nagging. They go to Valentine's Day Dances in fancy dresses and dance with boys. They run student council meetings without even needing my input. They are growing up, making their own way in the world for themselves. And they’re doing all of this successfully. This is all as it should be. I am blessed to be their mother.



What I thought this meant, however, was that I was going to be able to take some of this time for myself, and explore things for me that time didn’t allow when their needs were more hands on. Instead, in the process of trying to do just that, I feel like I ended up back at the start of it all. Only I’m not even at the start of it yet. There is no baby here yet,  in need of constant nursing and wiping and rocking. I am in a holding pattern, feeling very much like life is merely going on without me, and as if I might have been left behind.



I had a talk with an old friend in Colorado many years ago, when the girls were very little and my life revolved around the constant daily work that raising small children entails. I told him then that I missed my life. He looked at me strangely and said “But this is your life.” I’ve been thinking about that a lot, about how regardless of what I had imagined or perceived my life would be at this juncture, right here is where I am. This is my life.



So rather than think about what I thought my life would be right now, or what my life will be in July once this baby is here to hold and kiss and touch, I will let the minutes now last 60 seconds. And when I started to adopt this philosophy and stopped living in the past or the future, something miraculous happened. This baby started to move. There were little kicks and taps before, but now the baby is squirming and stretching and moving. It reminded me that this part, this holding pattern, is part of this child’s life too. It’s an everyday miracle, I know this. Still, it’s all mine. And it’s happening now, right in the 60 seconds I’m living in. I just needed to slow down and stay in the moment long enough to notice.