Wrong bin! Not even recyclable!
Where did the time go?
It is a question that I often ask myself as the calendar flips over to a New Year. And it is a rather ironic question, given that I spend most of the 365 days of the preceding year trying to hurry time along.
As a father, I sometimes foolishly wish time could fly. Fly so that my two boys would reach an age that requires less of my time, and frees up more of it to pursue a bucket list of interests.
As a runner, I continually wish time could accelerate. Accelerate during the interval between race A and race B, so that I can race and see the progress I’m making in this little hobby.
And, as a working man, I constantly wish time could expedite. Expedite in order for weekends to come around faster, seasons to go pass quicker and holidays to arrive earlier.
I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions.
Of course, I understand that, without this construct, gyms would go broke in no time, tobacco companies would soak in more profits and healthy-eating zealots would choke on their celery sticks.
The mythical day when all good things will start
For me, however, I simply know myself too well. Too well to be deceived into thinking that my resolve to do something will suddenly be iron-clad, just because the calendar flicks over from December to January. If there are things I should be doing but I need to draw cosmic strength from the New Year to start doing them, then I suspect they are either not particularly important, or are so important and yet so difficult (for whatever reasons) that calendar-flicking is just one of many excuses I resort to to postpone real action. Continue reading