Time is Stingy: 100 Word Challenge

I made a huge mistake the last time we were together. It was failing to appreciate it for what it was; the last time we would ever see each other.

I had a strategy for it, too. To trace your brows, lashes, lips, jaw with my thumbs all the way to your earlobes completely memorizing your face. Slowly. Feature by feature.

I suppose part of me realized it could be that day. Like the shared molecules that previously made up "us" vaporized before our view, I felt it. You?

Time refuses to give that back. It moves forward. Without us.

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This week, Tara at Thin Spiral Notebook charged us to write a piece about whatever we desired. The caveat? She refused to allow the letter "N" . Yeah, crazy hard! You try it. Go, go!

Just Write: Yoga and How Do You Take Up Space?

I have been intensely pensive lately. Probably too much so, if truth be told.

I derive questions, mostly about life, from a few sources.

One such place is yoga. That is, yoga taught by an intelligent, and thought provoking teacher.

Okay, okay! Some of you may think a yogi’s verbiage is a bunch of cheesy crap, and that their soothing, whisper-like intonation is fake. Depending on the teacher, or my mood, it can be. Distracts me, too.

Not today, though.

Anna, yogi extraordinaire and former professional ballet dancer, provided background as to why the postures, sequences and flow, would be just so, explaining her planning usually has something  to do with what she’s thinking about or struggling with or working on in her own life.

Today’s question: How do you take up space?

She didn’t tell us what to think, or even what she thought except to say she feels her space must be filled with movement. (Hint: This is NOT usually my case.) During our class we moved through several choreographed sequences, repeating each and every one at least three times to settle in, and get a rhythm She posed questions like: Is your space being filled by thoughts or movement? Are you constantly making small adjustments or are you static? Are you exploring your depths or resting?

I wasn’t necessarily thinking about my physical space the whole time, though mostly I was in those moments. I was concentrating on what I could physically do. How could I improve this posture? What felt loose? Tight? Strong? Weak?

My consistent goal in yoga is to stay present, in the moment, and prevent the drifting of thoughts to a place off my mat. Push everything out!

There weren’t expectations of answers, or anything, during Lotus pose or Warrior Two or Dancer. At that moment. She set the questions out there for us like “food for thought”, a whisper thought to take home in a doggie bag for later. 

It was an interesting exercise. Letting my mind touch lightly on the questions she posed as my body simultaneously moved through her queues for strenuous postures. The answers came fleetingly like the sweat that ran down my nose then dripped off it’s tip. My mind and body were transitioning from one thought/position to the next. 

I felt strong. I felt challenged. I felt successful. 

In the moment! On the mat. Fully present.

Of course, she was alluding to the bigger picture as well. Maybe even more so. Has to be because we were only in the sweat box for 60 minutes! As I walked home, however, the question marinated, and I started equating “space” with time. My thoughts drifted over to how I spend my time in the space I occupy. 

So how do I fill my space (off the mat)? Well that depends. I alternate between being proudly productive or happily lost in thought or extremely time wasting. With people I love, others I don’t know well, and the occasional stranger.

Who decides what is a “properly” filled space? Do I? Does He? Does someone else like my husband? 

These are just questions. Things I am thinking about today. Things I will probably think about tomorrow too unless I am posited questions from one of my “other” sources. I am all questions it seems with a smaller percentage of answers. But I enjoy thinking too much. Sometimes.

What I do know for sure is that I love yoga because it provides challenge, both mentally and physically. It is stimulating. It creates thinking time on and off the mat. And these things are (not uniquely) important to my well-being*. 

*(Editor’s Note: In an effort to additionally increase my well-being, I am currently ingesting a juice-like beverage I picked up at Whole Foods this morning. It is called Alternative Fuel whose label states, “We squeeze it fresh right in our store. Made With Fresh…celery, broccoli, parsley, cabbage, wheatgrass, lettuce, spinach, kale and cucumber.” To borrow a famous phrase from Lucille Ball, “Tastes just like candy!” YUMMERS!!!)

Sand In An Hourglass

 s-caruso.deviantart.com

Though a storm was rapidly approaching along the lakefront, I sat to catch my breath anyway, but for a moment. Resting my ass on the cold concrete of the boardwalk, I watched as the wildly whipping wind coated my shoelaces with sand.

The sun was still bright for now. Elbows propping my chin, I gazed levelly at the horizon. Thought about time.

If I’d a concept of it, as a child, I imagined there was all the time in the world. It was limitless. Seconds, minutes, days, months, years. Infinity.

Everything was fresh and first timey and thrilling. I twirled untroubled with arms flung wide open to expanses. That’s how I recall time feeling. When I was young.

As I got older, impatience crept in and time seemed to saunter. Everything took time. Ugh! More time than I wanted like Christmas coming. A boyfriend’s phone call. That first kiss. Going away to school. Growing up. And I wistfully wished it away for better things yet to come.

What a mistake that was because, then, time began to crawl amidst things like jobs and bills and responsibilities. Seemed bogged down, sometimes stagnant, except for the moments directly in front of me and things to be dealt with.

I picked up a handful of sand and watched it slip through my fingers like an hourglass.

Time bounds and dashes now instead of carefree pirouetting or lackadaisically passing or dragging on even. It hardly pauses. No longer feeling linear but like a merry-go-round someone keeps propelling. 

Not letting me off. Not one foot. Not even for a second. 

Pushing harder and faster and lustier. 

The view is blurry because it doesn't stop. 

Slow the hell down.

‘Round and ‘round and 'round. 

Slow the hell down.

I can hear it whir.

Slow the hell down.

And I'm dizzy.

So I step off.

Time is my companion.

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33-333 words for the third definition of:

COMPANION (noun)

1:  one that accompanies another :  comrade, associate; also:  one that keeps company with another

2obsolete :  rascal

3a :  one that is closely connected with something similar

b :  one employed to live with and serve another

Trifecta: Twenty-four Years

3:46 a.m.

My hazy gaze turns left for needless confirmation. The red LED numbers illuminate the same combination night after night. It's a real life version of Ground Hog Day, the movie, but it's a standing time they have, the one at which my body and mind choose to commune. Disturbing my peaceful slumber as wired toddlers do.

Eyelids remaining lightly closed and thoughts quickly, nimbly moving through my half-awake state, I've learned to embrace these hours like a frisky and persistent lover. There's nothing else to do but give in. 

In the not so long past, or so it seems, these moments were filled with nocturnal whispers. I fondly remember them as the solitary yet perfectly perfect quiet time two/too busy parents had to be "together".

Then the years blew away like a dandelion’s fluff in strong wind. They sprouted wings without asking who was prepared. And these night whispers became one-sided conversation inside my head. 

“What happened? Where's life going?”

But last night, it was different. Instead of looking towards the clock and grabbing my book, I inched over to the warmer side of the bed. Creeping within centimeters to feel his body heat, I watched his bare chest gently rise and fall. The movement was barely perceptible.

I began to whisper. Like I used to do in the dark. 

“Where did it go?

Twenty-four years.

Am I still as pretty… funny… smart... as I once was? To you.

Do you love me differently… better… more... after a quarter of a century?

Tell me.”

He rolled over pressing his good ear deep into the down. Lightly brushing my fingertips down the length of his spine, he stirred when I softly said (or maybe it was my hand), "Happy Anniversary, Honey." 

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33-333 words for:

TIME (noun)

3a : an appointed, fixed, or customary moment or hour for something to happen, begin, or end <arrived ahead of time>

b : an opportune or suitable moment <decided it was time to retire> —often used in the phrase about time <about time for a change>