Three weeks since my last post.
Countless notations in my calendar: “Blog.”
Thousands of minutes sucked into some ethereal vacuum.
Hubby and soon-to-be-graduated son out of the country.
Meetings/planning/work for graduation event for said son.
Mother flew in from California for event.
School events, carpooling, soccer matches, and social gatherings for son and daughter at home.
Trying to run/maintain a house.
Animals to feed, doctor’s appointments to make, medications to pick up from school nurse, hair appointments, cosmetic order, volunteering, helping electronically-challenged husband navigate e-mail/uploading pictures and attachments/Excel, early school dismissals , trying to remain sane.
Time. How many times have I thought of recent that I can’t accomplish everything I need to do in a day. A story as old as time, itself.
And, for instances when we are unable to participate in things we wish to do, we have the old adage, “Make the time.” That expression dumbfounds me, for we cannot make time. Though time may seem special, it is concrete within our mortal existence. We cannot change it, move it, rearrange it, or create it. We can, however, take the time, claim any portion of our hour, day, or week, as ours. We can dedicate any amount of time we want to a given task. But we must choose it.
I could have chosen to post something to this blog. I could have claimed an hour from my sleep, from my time browsing online news headlines (a virtual worm hole, itself), or working on my volunteer commitments. I could have told my children they needed to find a means of transportation other than myself. But I didn’t. I felt I couldn’t. Obligatory deeds required my attention. Abandoning my responsibilities seemed, to quote Simon Cowell, a bit “indulgent.”
And, yet, indulgence isn’t necessarily a negative. We all need to treat ourselves to activities which bring us pleasure and fill our souls. Dedicating blocks of time to activities that bring us joy revitalizes us and buoys us through the mundane and requisite.
In the past three days, one of my cats has urinated on two pieces of furniture, my internet has been down, forcing me to take my computer and router into a repair shop. (Seems the cat might have been the culprit as the tech pointed the chewed router antenna. UGH!) I misplaced paperwork I offered to type for my husband, our satellite service has been so slow that it took me four hours to process online tasks that should have taken only about forty-five minutes. Double UGH! My sister has come into town. And the world continues to spin.
Last weekend I found the most adorable plaque that says: “Life is tough. I recommend a manicure and a really cute helmet.” It now hangs on my wall, adding a bit of humor to my life.
Next time you hear someone, especially your own voice, talk of making time, make the correction. Don’t merely fantasize that minutes will miraculously appear into your day. Take the time.