Thirteen weeks to go. Well, thirteen weeks and a few days, but still... only thirteen weeks.
In thirteen weeks my family will embark on a journey unlike anything we have ever known. In thirteen weeks, my children will be kissing their grandparents farewell, going somewhere far away... they don’t truly understand the enormity of things, though. We do. In thirteen weeks, I will be trading the comfort of the known for the thrill of the unfamiliar.
Thirteen weeks.
Thirteen weeks ago it was the middle of June and I was just finishing my first year as a teacher at the middle school instead of at the high school I had called my home for over a decade. Thirteen weeks ago I was getting kids to prepare for finals. Thirteen weeks ago I was looking forward to a long and relaxing summer break...
Thirteen weeks can pass in the blink of an eye.
I contrast that to a year. One year. One year ago I was frantically trying to understand the new expectations of an unfamiliar place, trying to deal with students who had never met me before, trying to make friends with a staff that knew me solely by my reputation...which oddly sounds rather like what I’ll be experiencing in just over thirteen weeks. One year ago I was putting together an application to participate in an exchange with a teacher from Australia, not entirely certain I was ready for such a major undertaking. One year ago I was willing to try something new, and willing to take a risk.
One year. One year from now I will be looking at thirteen weeks again, wondering how a year had flown by so fast. One year from now I will have made my mark and found my place in a new and unfamiliar land. One year from now I will be bracing to get things arranged and frantically scrambling to get done all of the things I had been planning to do while I was in Australia.
Tempus fugit.
We all yearn for time to move at a pace which suits us. We long to speed it up in anticipation of things to come, we long to freeze it in moments of great joy, we long to rewind it after moments of great sorrow or loss... but time is unrelenting, inexorable...irreversible. I know with absolute certainty that there will be moments while I am in Australia that I want for nothing more than for time to fly. They say this is one of the common impacts on people on such exchanges. We get beyond the initial “honeymoon” phase and suddenly realize that we are stuck among people who don’t really understand us. These moments will happen.
Likewise, there will be moments when I want nothing more than for time to stand still, like when I’m getting my daughters ready for their first full day of school, dressed in their matching uniforms, their hair teased out of the usual mass of windblown, sun-bleached chaos into tidy braids...in these moments I will want nothing more than for time to stop, so I can hold them close and pretend they will never grow up.
And yes, there will be moments – like in the final days before we return home – where I will wish that I could wind back the clock and steal a few extra sunsets, a few more walks with April on distant sandy shores, and a few more hours with new friends around a fire pit or barbeque. But are not these moments the very thing we yearn for? I look back at the things that I have kept free from the tarnish of time, and I realize that they were the very same things... things that were precious and fragile, so painful to lose at the time... and yet those same things have proved themselves so enduring as to be eternal for me. I have treasured those moments, and I long to share that feeling – the heartfelt feeling of loss which transforms into a cherished memory that cannot be lost – with my children. This is one of the few chances time will grant me to share such a moment with my daughters.
After all...
...tempus fugit.
In thirteen weeks my family will embark on a journey unlike anything we have ever known. In thirteen weeks, my children will be kissing their grandparents farewell, going somewhere far away... they don’t truly understand the enormity of things, though. We do. In thirteen weeks, I will be trading the comfort of the known for the thrill of the unfamiliar.
Thirteen weeks.
Thirteen weeks ago it was the middle of June and I was just finishing my first year as a teacher at the middle school instead of at the high school I had called my home for over a decade. Thirteen weeks ago I was getting kids to prepare for finals. Thirteen weeks ago I was looking forward to a long and relaxing summer break...
Thirteen weeks can pass in the blink of an eye.
I contrast that to a year. One year. One year ago I was frantically trying to understand the new expectations of an unfamiliar place, trying to deal with students who had never met me before, trying to make friends with a staff that knew me solely by my reputation...which oddly sounds rather like what I’ll be experiencing in just over thirteen weeks. One year ago I was putting together an application to participate in an exchange with a teacher from Australia, not entirely certain I was ready for such a major undertaking. One year ago I was willing to try something new, and willing to take a risk.
One year. One year from now I will be looking at thirteen weeks again, wondering how a year had flown by so fast. One year from now I will have made my mark and found my place in a new and unfamiliar land. One year from now I will be bracing to get things arranged and frantically scrambling to get done all of the things I had been planning to do while I was in Australia.
Tempus fugit.
We all yearn for time to move at a pace which suits us. We long to speed it up in anticipation of things to come, we long to freeze it in moments of great joy, we long to rewind it after moments of great sorrow or loss... but time is unrelenting, inexorable...irreversible. I know with absolute certainty that there will be moments while I am in Australia that I want for nothing more than for time to fly. They say this is one of the common impacts on people on such exchanges. We get beyond the initial “honeymoon” phase and suddenly realize that we are stuck among people who don’t really understand us. These moments will happen.
Likewise, there will be moments when I want nothing more than for time to stand still, like when I’m getting my daughters ready for their first full day of school, dressed in their matching uniforms, their hair teased out of the usual mass of windblown, sun-bleached chaos into tidy braids...in these moments I will want nothing more than for time to stop, so I can hold them close and pretend they will never grow up.
And yes, there will be moments – like in the final days before we return home – where I will wish that I could wind back the clock and steal a few extra sunsets, a few more walks with April on distant sandy shores, and a few more hours with new friends around a fire pit or barbeque. But are not these moments the very thing we yearn for? I look back at the things that I have kept free from the tarnish of time, and I realize that they were the very same things... things that were precious and fragile, so painful to lose at the time... and yet those same things have proved themselves so enduring as to be eternal for me. I have treasured those moments, and I long to share that feeling – the heartfelt feeling of loss which transforms into a cherished memory that cannot be lost – with my children. This is one of the few chances time will grant me to share such a moment with my daughters.
After all...
...tempus fugit.