My senior year of high school, we read Shakespeare's Sonnet 55, in which he produces a less than pleasant metaphor for the passing of time, referring to it as "sluttish." This short phrase stuck with me all these years, and I think about it often when I'm reminded of just how true it is.
Time always wins. Without fail. No matter how great of a fight you put up, there is no force great enough in the universe to even attempt to win against time.
I can go on the elliptical, and 40 minutes will feel like the equivalent of 40 weeks. I sit in rush hour traffic for hours on end and am pretty sure I can feel my hair turning gray. The things we love and crave and desire are always the most elusive. And every unpleasant, arduous and downright terrible event is just that: unpleasant, arduous and terrible for an obscene amount of time.
Time wins in all those moments you hope and wish and pray will end, but the seconds seem to drag on by. The slowest work day. Waiting in line at the DMV. Going to the dentist. Sitting in class for eons on end. Plane rides across the Atlantic. Taking a test you know none of the answers to. Road trips that seem to have no destination in sight. That last five minutes on the treadmill.
And then time wins again in all those moments that end way before you're ready for them to. The last day of a vacation. The night before a huge paper is due and you're pumping yourself full of caffeine to finish in time. Sleep. No matter what. A kiss so perfect and unexpected with someone who means something. A concert so kick-ass and incredible that you could stay there all night. And perhaps the one that hits closest to home these days: college.
When I think about the fact that I am about to enter my last year of college, which I try not to do often as it induces world's greatest meltdown, I am baffled by the passing of time. How did that happen? How did I finish three years of college in what feels like two weeks time?
The better question, though, is what did I accomplish in that time? How much of it was wasted being pissed off about something I don't even remember? How much of it was spent changing, growing and learning? I wished away week after week after week to get to the weekend, without realizing all of the life that was happening in between those weekends. I counted down from hundreds of hot, long summer days to the one at the end of August that got me back to where I wanted to be.
Now, there aren't enough days left. Not even close. In three short weeks, that day at the end of August will arrive, and the one year I have left is not nearly enough time for me. But that's the thing. Time doesn't really care if you're ready or if you're happy. Selfish b***h.
