“Before you were an actual person.
And we were all fish.
How many channels were there?”
Are We There Yet?
Being six years old.
Izobel is still quite rubbish at grasping how time actually works.
How events fit together, I mean.
Both in an, ‘…are we there yet?’ kind of way.
And by asking questions like that one up there.
About evolution.
And television.
Me.
Being 54 years old right now.
I am still quite rubbish at grasping how time actually works, too.
(And evolution, come to think of it).
Because I am still spending too much of my time.
My 360 remaining months of time.
Doing things I don’t really want to do.
Months.
You’d think I’d have learned by now.
640 months in.
You’d think I’d have learned that the times that made me most smiley.
Most cozy.
Most teary.
Or most happy.
Include being sat in Costa with a 6 year old Izobel.
Watching her skilfully navigate around the crusts of a cheese toastie.
Or rocking a 6 month old Izobel to sleep at 3am.
(Both of us listening to ‘Heroes’ by David Bowie.
It’s the only thing that calmed her).
Or striding through the forest with a chitter-chattering, 5 year old Izobel.
And Colin the Collie.
And Frank the Bichon.
Thinking nothing of time.
Thinking only of those moments.
Time.
So come to think of it.
And reflecting.
You’d think I’d have learned by now.
640 months in.
That there really is just one lesson to be learned about time.
And here it is…
The times where time matters least.
Matter most.
