Time

Time is such an intangible thing.

It comes, it goes, we lose track of it. It weighs on our hands and on our minds, it crawls by, and it flashes by at the speed of light.

I’m turning forty in a few months, and suddenly, time has become a tangible, frightening, and precious commodity. I don’t have nearly enough of it, even when it’s crawling by. I feel guilty for those times when I wish it would go more quickly, but sitting in a crowded doctor's office with a roomful of sick people, I find it hard to cherish the moment. Especially when my “To-Do” list has carried over onto the third page in my planner, and everything on it has a deadline of yesterday.

When did my life get so busy? But then again, when was it not?

A reader is born

"Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air raids..."

I learned to read words when I was three, but it was in my first-grade classroom that I encountered literature for the first time. Each day after lunch, we laid our heads on our desks, my teacher turned off the lights, and for thirty minutes, she read to us.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe was my introduction to the world of fantasy, the world of literature, the world of imagination. I remember the first day she read to us quite vividly--the scents, the sounds, the images that surrounded me--even after all this time. I remember how the classroom was arranged, where my desk sat, and the posters on the wall. I remember her voice, soft and melodious, rising and falling in a rhythm unique to that particular story. I remember how the language and style fascinated me, was like nothing I'd ever heard or read before...

Most of all, though, I remember my wonder and awe.

That day, in that classroom, a first-grade teacher found the right book for the right child at the right time, and a reader was born.

Thank you, Mrs. Jones. And thank you, Mr. Lewis. You have both enriched my life immeasurably.

When Looking Backwards Helps us Move Forward

"Responsibility does not only lie with the leaders of our countries or with those who have been appointed or elected to do a particular job. It lies with each of us individually. Peace, for example, starts within each one of us. When we have inner peace, we can be at peace with those around us."--the Dalai Lama

Things I learned this month:

(1) We often speak to avoid listening, using language as a defense mechanism--to build a wall that helps us to maintain a safe emotional distance from others and ourselves.

(2) The need for constant distractions is a sign that we are avoiding being alone with ourselves.

(3) Feeling passionate about the world around us is natural and good, in spite of our academic inclination to value reason over emotion, and in fact, many of us who find our home in academia do so because it's one place where we can avoid emotion and still be considered "normal."