I am sitting in the kitchen of my grandmothers house where we have stayed for a week or two every summer as long as I have been alive. This is my 18th trip. Part of what I love about this place is its ability to make me relax despite whatever might be going on in the outside world. Age has corrupted that slightly, as I become privy to the adult disagreements that plague this family. Despite them though, we have always made do. The acceleration of time is hitting me again though. I have to leave on the 30th back home. That is one week from today, and I feel like I have no time. I want to do too much with the time I have, and know I won’t do enough of it.
When I was little, the two weeks we had here seemed like such a long time. There was time enough to do everything I wanted to twice, and all the time for the things I didn’t realize I wanted to do. Now I’ve been here 5 hours, and am already panicked that I’m running out of time. My father and grandmother have both told me that time never stops moving, nor does it ever stop speeding up. This frustrates me. While there are certainly bits of the future I want to hurry up and get here already, far more things don’t get the attention or time they deserve, because I’m running out of it.
I am entering my senior year of high school. One year from now, depending on how college plays out, I may either be in Basic Training before West Point, or preparing for wherever else I choose to go. Then it’s 4 lightning years of college education, and then I’m in the world. Quite frankly, that is terrifying. I don’t feel like a kid anymore, but I certainly don’t feel like an adult. 5 years is supposed to change that, but I don’t really know how well it will. I don’t have time anymore. It worries me that while the time I don’t have now means that I miss a few things I wanted to do, the time I don’t have in 5 years starts costing me dreams and bits of life. There doesn’t seem to be any stopping it. The funny thing is, I’m not sure I would.