Another year has flown by.
It’s as if the fast-forward button on life was pushed, and got stuck, year after year. Sometimes, it feels as if I frantically try to pull the button out, but still, there it is zipping through the seasons one after the other. Life flashes before my eyes, scene after scene. It seems that I can’t fully listen to the lines, so grasping and understanding the script is far-fetched. So, I store each scene in my mental archive, thinking I will press replay and let the scenes marinate when life slows down a bit. But the scenes continue to pile up, and before I know it, Christmas trees are illuminating left to right.
Then, life throws especially difficult moments at us—those that force you to take a seat and reflect. We replay the scenes, and listen to the dialogue, trying our best to grasp the message of each part of this yearly film. Although sometimes, no matter how hard we study each minute of this movie, reaching an understanding seems unfathomable. Sometimes, the parts that seem the most difficult to understand will give us clarity later in life. Perhaps another year or five. Every now and then, take a break from throwing what’s in front of you in your “for later” file. Look around you and see how poetically this year is written: the beauty of finding your strength in your summertime heartbreak, the numbness of the winter blues, and the commencement of your rebirth in the springtime. Leave the door open on all of the above, not just the good parts.
Take in the beauty of how the leaves, stubbornly and so beautifully, change color every single year, and how they wilt and dance to the ground to make someone smile at the sound of how they crunch on the cold winter concrete. The stunning intricacy of a single snowflake, it still falls from the sky, knowing its demise in melting into the earth. The rebirth of new life on the same trees, the flowers know their beauty and color will fade, yet they still blossom boldly. Before the branches can rest and catch a breath, a fresh set of leaves form their dense canopy to shade the summertime reader.
Savor the scenes as they unfold in this yearly film, as the same lines are rarely written again.
Time is all we have, and also all we don’t.
