It's the last day of January already. One of my hopes for the year was that maybe, just maybe, it could go by a little bit more slowly. Perhaps it comes with age, but it just seems like time ticks by so quickly and there is little I can do to keep it from unfolding in front me as fast as it does.
I've been hopeful that more days could feel longer and slower and less full. With more walks outside, more careful meals planned out and eaten all together as a family at the dinner table. More coffee and conversation with friends and more time given to develop deeper and richer friendships. More playtime, more reading, more writing - more things I just enjoy doing. And where weekends are full of the purposeful kind of activity that still allows time for rest and relaxing and not just errand running and laundry washing and church going.
And already the first month of the year has drawn to an end. And really, the first month has looked like I was hoping for it too - it's been the more I was hoping for.
But even though my days haven't felt hectic or full, time still seems to go by just as quickly. I have no control over it, no matter what I intend or purpose or plan for.
It's interesting how I still try and grasp for control all around me. Even the most intangible of things - time.