Hours Seem Like Moments, But Weeks Have Turned Into Years

We all spend our lives doing battle with father time. We agree to trade large parts of the precious time we have on Earth for money by selling our labor. We sometimes wish chunks of time away (I wish my vacation would hurry up and get here! I wish Christmas was tomorrow! I wish I was old enough to drive/drink/retire). Occasionally (rarely) we make it work in our favor. Consider the miracle that is compound interest, and the steady increase in wealth that results from steadfastly salting away a few dollars a week for several decades.

Sometimes in our back and forth struggle with time, circumstances cause our perception of its very flow to change. Such is our experience at the moment. Since that Tuesday morning of Thanksgiving week, we’ve experienced the oddest sort of time dilation.  We seem to be running as fast as we can in slow motion. Every day is a blur of sorting, packing, purging, storing. Yard sales, Craigslist, calls to make, inspections to schedule. Trips to the bank, trips to the marina, trips to the post office, trips to the store (more boxes! We need more boxes!).

At the micro level, time seems to be flying by and we’re rapidly burning through our available supply. We start breaking down a room after breakfast, and in the blink of an eye it’s mid-afternoon. Where did the time go! Minutes are gone in a flash, and hours have become the briefest of moments. But at the macro level, it’s unbelievable that it’s only been two weeks (today) since we received that early morning call from our realtor. It seems like months, years, a lifetime ago. Only fourteen days, but it feels so far in our past that it’s merely a memory of some quieter, saner moment. Our weeks have turned into months, if not years.

But we’re entering the final stretch. Our kids will take what they want on Saturday. The movers will arrive on Sunday and take our treasures to be stored. The cleaners come on Monday. And we go to closing the next day.

And then we’re done. With this part at least. Our address will be the Homewood Suites while we finish a quick haulout and mini-refit on our new home. Maybe we’ll be living onboard by Christmas. Maybe by New Years.  And maybe shortly after, time will resume its normal flow, and we’ll be able to stop, relax, and have a leisurely cool one without having to keep one eye on the clock and the other on the calendar, thinking constantly about the next task, appointment, deadline.

We can’t wait…

TimeMovesSlowly

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