Last Monday was a classic example of how quickly things can spiral. I totally blanked on the fact that my son Charlie had hockey practice scheduled for a holiday, so I had to shift my mom’s dinner visit to the afternoon at the last minute. We were running late, and I was feeling irritable and overwhelmed. By the time I managed to get Charlie into the car, hockey gear half on, and headed through the flurries to pick up his teammate for practice, I was on the verge of tears.
Isn’t it amazing how fast things can change? Just the night before, we’d celebrated Charlie’s birthday with a lovely dinner at his favorite spot, a homemade triple chocolate cake (which required me to visit three different stores for the ingredients), and a pile of presents. I sat at the dining table, watching my family’s smiling faces flicker in the candlelight, feeling a profound sense of calm and gratitude. My boy was now eight!
But standing there at the hockey rink, fighting back tears, I felt anything but peaceful. It was freezing, and in my rush, I had forgotten my hat and gloves. I shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets and pressed my forehead against the icy plexiglass. Watching Charlie skate, I felt the familiar tightness in my chest: I’m trying to juggle so much, and it feels like I’m failing at all of it. I was just so drained.
As I took a shaky breath, I heard a Billy Joel song echoing in my mind: “this is the time to remember, ‘cause it will not last forever…” I shook my head, battling a mix of self-pity and annoyance. It reminded me of my deep desire to be present, yet the heavy weight of my expectations felt suffocating. Am I so focused on not missing out that I end up missing everything?
I honestly don’t know. I suspect that I was less in the moment before I began reflecting on this. But the awareness of my shortcomings in truly engaging with life is painfully clear. Looking at Charlie, his figure blurring through my tears, I felt a fierce longing to savor these years, to pay attention, and to not let any moments slip away. Yet, time and again, I fail. My fatigue or frustration often clouds the beauty of our imperfect lives. The thought of all I’ve already overlooked brings me to tears. I don’t even want to blink for fear of missing anything else.
That night, the refrain kept playing in my mind: “These are the days to hold onto, ‘cause we won’t although we’ll want to / This is the time, but time is going to change.”
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Summary:
In this reflection, I grapple with the tension between my desire to be fully present in my son’s life and the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy that often arises. Moments like birthday celebrations contrast sharply with the chaos of everyday life, highlighting how quickly emotions can shift. My journey of striving for mindfulness is ongoing, and acknowledging my struggles serves as a reminder to cherish each fleeting moment.