I thought that it was because of the pandemic and because of the fact that in these two years, time has passed in a different way. Not faster or slower, just differently. But today, organizing this month’s schedule, I realized suddenly that I had not yet accepted that the way time passes changes with the years, with or without the pandemic, and that one does not always understand that invisible rhythm with which things in life are governed.
Looking at the calendar, I remembered that when I was a child, I felt there was an infinite gap between December 10 and Christmas because between these two dates there were exams, concerts, and a bunch of responsibilities that made that space of fifteen days seem like an eternity. The moment could not arrive soon enough when I knew I would be able to sleep until noon, when I could stop practicing, when there were no homework assignments due nor did I have to study until the wee hours of the morning. And then, when the holidays arrived, the feeling did not change much: from Christmas until New Years’ there was not even a week, but an array of days relatively free from the discipline I was used to, and that, because of everything they brought me, seemed much more than a week.
But the feeling that I had today, looking at the calendar, was the opposite. Days pass. All of a sudden, today is the beginning of the month, tomorrow is Christmas, and the day after tomorrow Three Kings’ Day has passed as well, and I am unable to do anything to stop it.
And no, I don’t feel nostalgia, nor do I feel the need to return to my childhood, but I do feel that parts of ourselves, the ones that live in the present moment, begin to evaporate with the years, and there are stages in life when one can’t manage to ground oneself in a sense of time that allows one to be where one has to be, and not thinking about the day after tomorrow.