When I was young, time didn’t mean much. What I knew was what time Mom or Dad wanted me home. I knew what time meals would be on the table – yes, we all sat at the same table and ate our meals together – and we actually talked to each other. During the summers, I knew what time I had to be at the ballpark, or when I started to work, I knew what time I was expected to punch the time clock. When school started, I knew what time I had to be in a classroom. Other than those times, time didn’t mean too much.
As I got older, the meaning of time started to change. It still revolved around when I needed to be at a specific place, but time was still measured by where I needed to be and when.
Then came the period of my life when I was looking forward to retirement. Watching the clock and calendar took on a different meaning, and days ticked away toward a different goal. Once retirement came, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d spent the days of my life (since the age of 12) reporting to work of one sort or another. Retirement meant those obligations no longer existed, and I’d have a lot more time to do other things, like golf, or work on a jigsaw puzzle, or watch television, or accidentally take a nap.
Now that I’m five years into retirement, time feels more valuable, like the day will come when I can no longer do the things I like to do because my body won’t allow it anymore.
I don’t look forward to that time, and I imagine that will be when time slows down. I guess the best thing I can do now is make the most out of each day I’m given, and enjoy what time I have.
Have A Good Week!
