10 days with no posting. This must be a record.

Time is something that I’ve always kept close tabs on – from watching the clock’s second hand tick in social studies class, waiting for the day to end so I could get home before the sun set and ride my bike down Piccadilly Road before dinner to panicking when I turned eighteen years old because I felt all my dreams were lost since I hadn’t yet achieved what I had set out to do, and surely everything past 18 years was a lost cause!

I tried to control time. I kept a journal so that I could jot down memories – desperately yearning to get a permanent imprint of the day’s activities in solid ink – just in case. In case of what? I’m still not sure.

I would sneak downstairs at night and hang out on the banister on the stairs by myself, listening to my mom’s conversations – still not wanting to be left out.

From a young age, I was annoyingly aware of my own mortality. I still to this day walk down the street and say to myself – “If this were your last moment on earth, would you be happy with your life?” Probably a clarifying and earnest thought for some, but after 25 years of this same thought circling your mind, you would get aggravated at it just like I do and just want to move on, live life and let it be. That little voice becomes a nuisance so loud that it makes happiness vital, but somewhat fruitless at the same time.

As I got older, I found time was getting faster – as anyone who has lived past the age of 25 will tell you, so I tried to pack as much into every day as I could – spinning my wheels so fast that I ended up doing the opposite of what I set out to do when I was young – I ultimately was forgetting more than I was remembering – not relishing anything, and ultimately relinquishing what is sacred about time – and that is, I think, living on my own terms. I guess I was, and probably still am, figuring out what those terms were.

Now, time just does what it likes. I have learned to try to maintain a bit of control, but ultimately have released that firm grasp of the tempo that my tiny hands so strongly and feverishly wanted to hold onto. Time, momentum, beats, and life’s pulse – they are all going to do what they like no matter how much I hold my breath, write it down or try to enjoy myself.

Walking around Wales yesterday, and in particular, the Carreg Cannen castle in the Brecon Beacons was one of those moments when time simply was what it was. It enveloped me, allowed me to get out of my head, enjoy the time with Charlie and Eileen and listen to the loud baa’s of the sheep down below. Every sound was crystal clear, every scene on the meadows distinct, and each step I took meant something. Perhaps it was the fact that it was their last day here in the UK (C&E’s, not the sheep’s) and the last day of having visitors for some time. Perhaps it was the brightness of the sun that so rarely shows it’s face, or perhaps it was the beauty surrounding me. Being in nature does that.

Each time I look ahead and think to myself “God damn, that will never be here,” I look behind me. Or, I introduce myself to a teenager and realize that wasn’t so long ago. As much as I can not wait for our traveling to begin, I know that it will be over before I know it, and that as soon as it begins, we are already on our way to the end of the trip. Therefore, I am here. I am writing on Sunday, 18 April 2010 at 5:33PM, and Portsmouth is tied with Aston Villa.

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