So as far as I know, time has not stopped yet. I approach the second half of my twenties with everything and almost nothing figured out all at once. For starters, the worst days end, and so do the best. I am grateful for both. Somehow we sail through, both too silently and all too chaotically as though we get to do this all over again differently.
Some days are so similar that I lose all meaning between days of the week. So I make a decision to remember minute details like the smell of the freshly watered sidewalk or the white dust on a construction worker’s hands. And then when I think back I realize that those days and those thoughts will add up to being my week, then my month and eventually my year. So why does it matter? Because I get to recognize elements of my story as it is happening, and believe it or not there is some wonder in that.
For a second I get overcome by a sense of melancholy, a fleeting realization that this right here, right now is it, for the time being it is all I have. But then I submerge my mind with presence, with absolute existence, being drenched in reality and still having the ability to step away from it is what makes us human. It is what conscious human life offers us, all we get to do is choose, maybe even simply dance in between our life, and the story we tell ourself about it.