The years pass by our eyes quicker and quicker as we age. One minute it’s Christmas morning and the next it’s summer nights at the cottage. A day felt like a year when we were kids.
Bike rides with melting popsicles , crooked teeth and knowing when the street lights came on it was time to go home. Bruises and scrapes came from adventures in imagination.
Tanned knee caps and highlights from the sun meant days spent creating stories and acting them out before dinner time. Before walkie-talkies turned into cell phones , family channel turned into HBO and tamagotchi’s turned into responsibilities. Pure, unfiltered innocence.
A day felt like a year when we were kids. Having a bedtime in the summer meant angrily trying to sleep while the sun was still shining through your blinds making you feel as if you’re missing out on more excitement. Like squeezing the last bit of juice out of a lemon, we knew that closing our eyes meant the day was done. We knew there was always tomorrow.
A day felt like a year when we were kids. Somehow the jump from childhood to adulthood happened without our consent. Suddenly, clarity is hard to practice. Focus is off, the year feels like a day. It moves so fast we feel unaccomplished. We forget about the tiny, daily growths and look for the bigger picture. We look at other people’s bigger pictures and make the mistake of comparing.
The same sun shines through our blinds reminding us that time is of the essence and just like when we were kids, we want to squeeze as much as we can from the remaining hours.
A day felt like a year when we were kids. And just like then, adventure can follow us around now. We get caught in a web of mundane necessities, we forget to make crucial time for imagination. We’re so busy marching to the beat of the adult drum, we forget that we can venture of that path for a little while. It’s not going anywhere. It’s waiting for you everyday.
A day can feel like a year again, we just have to slow down.