Time Marches On

The summer of 1996, nearly all of my school friends turned 16. Almost without exception, they drove to school the first day of our junior year of high school. The scene in the parking lot was a parade of sophistication in borrowed mini-vans.

The beginning of the school year was a strange time for me. My birthday being in November, I always felt like I was returning to school having missed out on some monumental change. For the first three months I might as well have been a whole year younger than most of my classmates. The fact that most of my friends hit those milestones a few steps ahead of me made me feel not only envious, but just a little immature. I comforted myself (seriously, I did) with the idea that as we got older I would continue to be the youngest in the group of my peers. Even in my self-conscious and angst-ridden teens, I had the sense that being young wouldn't be a curse forever.

In the summer of 2010, nearly all of my school friends – many of whom I have not seen in person since school let out in… ahem… 2002 – are turning 30. One would think that I might feel a little younger, a bit less matured, if you will. With a baby on the way and a “baby” who daily – and rather indignantly – informs me that she is no longer a baby, but a Big Girl, I have a slightly altered concept of time.

I don't know when exactly it was that the passage of time became less an imperceptible crawl and more a hurricane of once-in-a-lifetime moments, but it has. I look into my daughter's face and Time stares back at me, daring me to snatch as many precious memories from the air as I can before they evaporate. As I careen toward the big three-oh, I'm not as concerned with catching up with my friends as I am grateful for a few extra months to think about what's coming and soak it all in. It appears that my high-school self may have actually been right about a few things.

Still, I consider myself more optimistic than fearful. I've been pushing Thirty for a while now, it's only fair that Thirty finally push back. As I hear the tiny voice in the back seat remind me that she's "gwowin' up!" I remember that there's still plenty of growing for me to do too. Deep down, I know that the best is yet to come. Even though it will be much sooner than I'd like to imagine that the parade of sophistication includes my borrowed mini-van.