It's a new year. Again. Broken down by months, years, even decades; time seems to fly by, and at the same time stand still.
So many events and memories we attach to timelines tucked away in our minds to be called up again like files on a hard drive. Exactly one year ago the windshield on my van cracked all the way across in a single instant on a frigid morning trip to Walmart. It's coming up on a year since our beloved 12-year-old golden retriever died soundly in his sleep after a freak January thunderstorm.
Eighteen years ago I was days away from the birth of my first son - at the same time excited and terrified of my own life. At 19 years old, we had no idea what we were in for.
Nine years ago we had just moved 1,200 miles away from family and friends and were making a new life for ourselves in Houston, Texas; and three years ago we were trying to make heads or tails of what it meant to have a son with autism.
Could it just have been six years ago that I was pregnant with our third son in Texas, Sean was doing consulting work in Milwaukee, and we didn't know where we would be living shortly after this baby was born? Is it even possible that in February it will be 10 years since the days where I got up every morning and commuted downtown to be an account executive at an ad agency?
And could it really have been just over 10 years since I watched my oldest son fight for his life at Riley Children's Hospital?
Time is a funny thing. We use it to mark events, measure age, cope with situations. We hang on to yesterday, dream about tomorrow - and sometimes just pray to get through today.
This year I would like to put more emphasis on today. What can I do today that matters? Today is the exact same number of minutes that yesterday was and that tomorrow will be. So why do we spend so much time focusing on those minutes that we either cannot change or can't yet do anything with? Today's waking hours are what matters.
How is your today going?