Useless clocks ticked incessantly in the background. I sat, securely fastened in my chair. I’m sure they told me numerous times it was for my own safety. Time had marched on, violating my brain and taking all of my memories with it.
I lose time. I don’t mean I have dissociative fugues and the inability to recall past events. Time simply rushes by me at such a fast pace that I seem to lose little pieces of myself along the way, pieces caught in the vortex of the life I am living that is whirling by at a great speed.
Those missing bits seem to fragment during my busy work days and I don’t always recognize their absence until I inch closer to my day off. I feel like a part of me has been eclipsed, hidden in a shadow, waiting to be rediscovered.
Today I had the benefit of finding some of those remnants of myself and putting them back where they belong. Today I came home from work, knowing that tomorrow is a day free from structure, and allowed myself that moment to finally relax and let those misplaced segments of my life re-establish themselves. Today I put my feet into the wading pool, bought for my dog, and let the water wash away the lingering moments of my work day. Today I put together the puzzle that is me with the pieces I had lost during the week. Today I made myself feel like the garden AND the rose.
It is important to take that quiet moment to collect all of the pieces of ourselves that are essential to us and recreate the whole picture of ourselves. Segments of us will get lost along the way but the significant substance of who we are will always find its way back. And in the moments that I was gathering the scraps of me that I had left behind, I came across this picture and it all made sense.
This time of year, I work more than the normal forty hour work week and a weekend off is a thing of the past. When life travels at a million miles an hour, I tend to lose track of the days of the week. I spent most of the day this past Wednesday thinking it could possibly have been Friday.
Perhaps it was just wishful thinking but Fridays really mean nothing to me from May to October and thus begins my confusion. I have actually come to thrive on NOT having weekends off in the summer. My mid-week day off is far less chaotic in terms of getting things done in the small tourist town I call home but it does nothing to alleviate the perplexity of knowing the day of the week.
I’m sure I am not alone in the quest to follow the weekly calendar. Life marches on whether we are able to keep pace, whether we fall behind or whether we skip ahead a few days. It’s a sure sign that we need to take each day in stride and not let ourselves drown in the wave we are riding.
Time forces us to grow, to shift, to adapt. Every time we blink our eyes the world shifts beneath our feet and moments evolve into days. It is no great mystery that we lose some along the way but the important part is that we keep our head above water.
Every 24 hour period ends in the word “day” and, although the frantic pace of life inadvertently makes me think I’ve missed one or two, I’m just happy I keep living to see another one.