Perspectives of Letting Go

There is often a sense of fleetingness, of running out of time, as life goes on. The strange part is that in the last phase of my life, I've almost felt as if I had reached terminal velocity. It was smooth sailing and enjoying a free fall that almost did not even feel like movement, though so much was happening, fast, busy, hectic. 

There's been a sense of learning to let go. Maybe of perspective also. 

I had one of those conversations with a bunch of friends, about old expectations versus new. I shared the fabled story of how, at the ripe old age of six, I was certain I would marry at 24 and had already picked out my outfit. Of course, the punchline was that 24 was gone with the wind and I now I am not even worried about it.

I remember when I was 13 or 14 years, how my favorite uncle, himself aged the decrepit old age of 28, had finally decided to get married. The family had all collectively sighed in relief, with some general insinuation that 28 was far too old to have remained unmarried, unsettled. I, not even knowing how old he was, just that he was old, thought too, it was damn time, nodding my little head wisely.

Now in the prime of life,  Vibrant, vivid, ambitious, successful. I'm kind of satisfied with how things are. For once I am not too worried about change, about losing people, about the future. I'm satisfied yet remain steadfastly hopeful, there are people I know I will be bidding adieu to as expectations conflict and trust erodes, and memories to say farewell to — however I am looking forward to the future, looking forward to growing old. 

Blatherskite

Earlier today, I was waiting for the light to change, and across the intersection, I saw this woman get off the bus, then wait at the corner. The light was still ticking down the seconds (we have those countdown walk-signs) for her to cross one way - about 15 seconds - but she chose to stand there and wait to cross the other way eastward, then wait again to cross again southward to the opposite corner. In watching her, I was thinking: she could have easily have crossed the first light, 15 seconds was a generous amount of time for her to do so. She would have saved time.

But then, was she in a hurry? Did it matter? Did 88 extra seconds waiting make so much of a difference? That's when I started thinking further. How time, despite it being a measure on the clock, overall an accepted,  sanctioned and designated allotment that rarely differs (as in every second is the same measure as the next), time itself is a measurement of perception.

I mean, once upon a time, having a computer process a command in 45 seconds was considered to be relatively fast. Now, if we need to wait even two seconds, we feel quite emphatically, a lag, or we feel that we're being slowed down.

What I thought to myself was that time is a measurement of how many things we can achieve, accomplish or simply execute.

Another example would be how back in the day we (as a species) had to walk far distances without the aid of mechanical transportation.Our parents or grandparents might have regaled us stories of waking up early and walking miles to get to school, and back. That was normal for them. Whereas, now, we have less time to do more. We take the car, we take public transport; and more often than not we become frustrated when we have to wait that extra bit longer because of traffic or delays. If we even considered making those hour-long walks back and forth everyday today...well, I'll leave that to your imagination.

But that's how time has somehow sped up, despite it being technically the same. Yeah we have place to be and things to do, but then again...the perspective makes you think about it, maybe just for a few seconds. I've tended to be an overall patient person. I don't fret waiting in lines, or push my way onto buses or subways. I enjoy taking long hour long walks to places people often take the car for. But yeah, I do have to admit, I get a little irritated when my net lags.

Aprication

It's almost the end of August, and it's seemed like the entire season has been in wait for the culminating occasion that accompanies the end of the summer. In a time bereft of the time-consuming work schedule, somehow there hasn't been time enough to find words to fill the void that has been ever-expanding here.

It's weird, in a way, because lately I've noticed - somewhat to my dismay - that the leaves have already begun changing colours. Not that you can tell right off though; it's the usual way of change. The little tiny incremental shifting so that you don't notice it until it's completely different. Like looking in the mirror day after day - we don't really feel we look any different (other than the odd blemish that pops up now and then, perhaps), and yet when we reunite with someone we have not seen in many years (or maybe months) all you hear are those classic exclamations about how you've changed.

Oddly, I've always been the one to be told how I haven't.

But then again that's me and my curse (or blessing?) of Tinkerbell. Don't know what fairydust showered upon me that has made me retain my youthful face. Or rather, that's what everyone else tells me. If you ask me, I really and truly do feel aged. Outwardly and inwardly. But then again that's because it's me walking in my own shoes day in day out (except for those odd moments when I run around bare-footed).

Speaking of reuniting, I came face to face with a girl who I knew when I was much younger. We'd never been the type to bond as friends or anything, not really - being daughters of family friends, that usually is the case; polite gatherings and murmurings, and when you're young you don't really bother...

But somehow when we came face to face, it was like we were united in this strong bond, it was almost as if we hadn't been apart all those many, many years, and almost like we already were close. Perhaps that's just the way it works. I've found, as we all age, all the cousins and kids we used to be, the relationships either break entirely off or strengthen with that maturity of adulthood, because we're now able to form our own opinions, and not rely on what our elders dictate for how we're supposed to behave with so-and-so.

Take for example: my eldest cousin never was close to anyone in our family. He was always quite reserved, and always kept to himself. He went his own way oftentimes, and kept to his own room, whenever the rest of families got together. For years, mostly because of adult say-so, we had a somewhat negative impression of him. And him being so so many years older than us younger siblings, there existed that usual communication gap. Years later, now, I don't know what it is, but he is one of my favourite family members. Despite our differences in how we grew up, there is that affinity between us. He's very quiet-spoken, and you have to sit with him and talk, and that's when he'll open up when you least expect it. That's just one of the amazing things I've come to ponder about how things change when we grow.

So, that girl came back suddenly in the midst of the crowd with this odd look on her face; holding my arm, and she tells me in a rush, "I don't know when we'll next see one another........it's been so many years, and time has flown so quickly." I don't know why but it seemed perfectly normal to, and I naturally hugged her close and told her "It's okay, we'll recognize one another no matter how many years pass. Even when we're 60, we'll know it's us."

To my mind, time is such a magician. I'm not even certain if that's truly the word I mean to use. But there you have it. That's just one of many words I could have used, and who knows how my meaning would have changed if I had used one of the many other similar words that could have been used had I bothered to think harder. But that is just it; the more one considers time itself, the more obtuse and abstract one finds the mind becomes.  It's like falling in some kind of warphole, an ever-spinning matrix or kaleidoscope where direction has no vector.

The leaves have already begun changing, and I guess this is about simply appreciating the transition itself as an definite, rather than waiting for the terminals of change to arrive before doing so.