"New Year's eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights." Hamilton Wright Maibe
Like many of my friends I stayed home the New Years Eve, mainly because I was pretty jet-lagged from my trip home to England, but also because NYE never really gets me wanting to be out and about. It often feels like there is so much expectancy for 'something' to happen or be different--you can almost feel the wanting in the air. I have no axe to grind, I welcome the sentiments--letting go of the past, leaning into a new uncharted future, hoping that things will be better in our lives, but I can seldom bring myself to make it out into the streets. Time is a funny thing--we mark moments, grant them a significance, and underneath it all time marches on, oblivious to our posturings, unaware that we find in a particular moment, pause for thought and reflection.
My mum is losing her mind to dementia and I am acutely aware that a certain time is gone for her, and for me with regard to her--the clock still ticks--but with every movement of time she drifts further and further away from her sons, from herself, from the world--it's a sobering thing. And a part of me wishes to hurry up time, to bring things to their inevitable and ugly conclusion as quickly as possible--is that pity for her, or selfishness on my part? I don't know, probably a bit of both.
What I realize, and believe me it is no great revelation, is that time pays no attention to us--it just keeps moving, reminding us, if we pay attention, of what a precious commodity it is.
I think that to honour the sentiment in Bing Crosby's song, we must give thanks for the time we've had, and the time yet to come, and live like we care.