Recently I’ve been thinking about life more in terms of seasons than of permanency.
Whether it’s that I’m getting older I’m not sure, but I’ve stopped reacting to situations as if they’re the permanent state of being. I’m feeling more of a surety of the passing of time, in other words. That whatever problem is bothering me isn’t the way it’s always going to be.
Back when I had only Kiddo#1 and Kiddo#2, for example, I was upset when I had to stop going to daily Mass because it was just impossible. I couldn’t go any longer! It was awful!
Whereas recently I’ve had to stop going to daily Mass because Kiddo#3 and Kiddo#4 make it impossible (they feed off each other) and my response was, “It will only be a year, and then I can go again.”
I’ve been telling everyone (and my Kiddos will quote me on this to random people) that because the move here was such an ugly transaction, the only way I’m leaving the Angelborough house is feet first in a plastic bag. And maybe that’s why I suddenly feel at ease about time. I find myself now saying, “But in a year — ” or “But in five years — ” and not feeling that sense of panic.
The way it is now isn’t the way it will always be. Whereas back when we lived in Angeltown, I reacted to setbacks and difficulties as if they were permanent.
My Patient Husband says he’s found a similar weathering of the spirit: that now he begins to calculate potentiality in terms of how many years he has left.
Neither of us is aged and feeble, but maybe that’s where we are: we’re cresting that halfway point in the lifespan and this is the perspective. That we’ve come to expect situations to be temporary.
I know tomorrow isn’t a promise. I’ve accepted that ever since Emily died. Maybe this is a further step toward achieving spiritual maturity, recognizing that today isn’t a constant.