I don’t want to blame it all on my two children, but the past ten years have flowed unlike any other set of years that I can recall.
The clues are there every day: when I have time to listen to music, to watch a movie, to select a new novel to read—and of course any time I exercise or look in the mirror—that a number of significant years have passed in a blur and a rush and my context for nearly everything is 10 years out of synch.
Some days it’s like waking from a distorted version of suspended animation. The Parenthood Blur.
I’m surprised by my lack of emotional response to this realization. I hope this means that I have better learned to accept myself and the world around me. That I’ve adapted to the role of parent.
That all my passions and interests are combining into some massive and wondrous integration.
Hope is not a strategy, I’ve learned, but sometimes our lives align in the best ways despite our efforts to understand how we got here and when.