Often we take the end of the calendar year to reflect on life and the changes which have occurred and the direction it is going. I think the end of the school year is a good time. Today my stomach has butterflies of nostalgia. It isn't that something is happening or going to happen. It is that it has happened. It has come and it has gone and it will never be again.
It isn't regret exactly. Of course, there are things I coulda, shoulda, woulda. But thinking that way only leads to despair, and the air is warm, and the leaves are green, and my natural self tends towards sadness in this beautiful time, and I am fighting hard. I will not give into despair. My eyes are weary and my head is nodding with exhaustion at the fight (or maybe it the sugary carbs and caffeine), but I am persevering.
When I think of all the things that have come and gone I can't help but feel wise. And I think about all the sayings stating those who feel wise are actually ignorant, and I feel shame. Shame to think I am wise. Shame to share these thoughts. I feel the sadness in my gut, and my head says, steady now. This will pass. It all passes. Every single thing slips away. When I realized I had no children in daycare. Then elementary. Middle school. And now my, of my "older" kids, none left in high school. Glendale has fallen into our history, like Hickory Hills, Bingham, The Nurturing Center, Hawaii, Maryland. Gone. Just memories. Just thoughts that I might have done more.
And I fight because the opposite is unbearable. There are still all these mouths to feed and hearts to lift, and I fight, because the sun will shine and the warmth will fall onto my shoulders, and around the corner it will all be fine. Because it doesn't last. It just keeps slipping by.
And I sit and watch these kids in this class. They are just starting to awaken to the transitory nature.
And in 15 more minutes this block will be over. This moment carved in time, every other day for this past year, will slip away. Next year, a new teacher. Always new. Always changing. Always on the fringe. Shallow relationships forged because it keeps changing. Why bother building when the next year it will change?
And I feel it.
Summer, eternal in its beauty is upon us.
It isn't regret exactly. Of course, there are things I coulda, shoulda, woulda. But thinking that way only leads to despair, and the air is warm, and the leaves are green, and my natural self tends towards sadness in this beautiful time, and I am fighting hard. I will not give into despair. My eyes are weary and my head is nodding with exhaustion at the fight (or maybe it the sugary carbs and caffeine), but I am persevering.
When I think of all the things that have come and gone I can't help but feel wise. And I think about all the sayings stating those who feel wise are actually ignorant, and I feel shame. Shame to think I am wise. Shame to share these thoughts. I feel the sadness in my gut, and my head says, steady now. This will pass. It all passes. Every single thing slips away. When I realized I had no children in daycare. Then elementary. Middle school. And now my, of my "older" kids, none left in high school. Glendale has fallen into our history, like Hickory Hills, Bingham, The Nurturing Center, Hawaii, Maryland. Gone. Just memories. Just thoughts that I might have done more.
And I fight because the opposite is unbearable. There are still all these mouths to feed and hearts to lift, and I fight, because the sun will shine and the warmth will fall onto my shoulders, and around the corner it will all be fine. Because it doesn't last. It just keeps slipping by.
And I sit and watch these kids in this class. They are just starting to awaken to the transitory nature.
And in 15 more minutes this block will be over. This moment carved in time, every other day for this past year, will slip away. Next year, a new teacher. Always new. Always changing. Always on the fringe. Shallow relationships forged because it keeps changing. Why bother building when the next year it will change?
And I feel it.
Summer, eternal in its beauty is upon us.
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