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Posts Tagged ‘life’

I stumbled across a sign like this in a store yesterday.

I should have bought it.

Actually, I should have bought ten of them so I could put them throughout my house as a constant reminder.

It’s time to stop waiting for someone to tell me that now is the time; the time to do something; to do anything.

Time to realize that I need to stop waiting for someone else to answer the questions.  Time to start making my dreams come true all on my own.

If I was waiting for a sign, I guess I found it.

No more excuses.

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The alarm went off at 6:33am, just as I knew it would. The fact that I was expecting it didn’t make it any easier. At first I told myself that I must be hearing things; that it couldn’t possibly be Monday morning already. I paused to listen again and yes, much to my disappointment, that was the alarm.

I reached over to shut it off before it woke up my sleeping husband. I said a bad word under my breath and thought again about how I should have become a teacher, like him, so I could sleep in every day in July and August. I hated him just a little bit in that moment.

I wished it was Friday again. I thought of the week ahead, another week of all the things that have to be done and buried my head down deeper into my pillow. It had been a great weekend, the perfect mix of busy and boring and I wanted more, just one more day and then I’d be okay to get up, to drag myself out the door, to sit at my desk and stare at the computer.

I cursed at myself for not buying a lottery ticket. I could be a millionaire right now. I could be jumping out of bed with the sheer exhilaration that comes from knowing you get to spend the day doing whatever you want.

Maybe one day.

But not today.

I pulled my head off my pillow and swung my feet out from under the blanket and sighed deeply as they hit the floor.

I am up now. It is Monday.

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I’m horrible at guessing people’s ages but if I had to, I’d say they were probably both in their mid-70s. He was probably quite tall in his earlier years but had now taken on a stooped posture. Stooped though he was, he still stood at least a head taller than her.

I’m not sure what it was about them that caught my attention as I walked through the crowded station but my eyes went to them immediately.

She was pointing to her nose, rubbing, and then shaking her head. He was standing directly across from her, holding a handkerchief and mirroring her actions.

I soon realized that she was trying to show him that he had something on his face. They went through the routine one more time before she got frustrated, grabbed the handkerchief from him and reached up to wipe it off herself.

A childish grin broke out across his face and he pulled away and stood up to his full height, which meant now she couldn’t reach him. She waved at him a couple of times and then dropped her hand to her side, resigned.

He said something to her I couldn’t hear and smiled again. The grin reminded me of the exact same one my son uses when he’s asking for a popsicle five minutes before dinner or to stay up late on a school night.

Then he leaned down and kissed her.

I don’t know anything about these people. I don’t know their story or anything about their relationship but I’ve chosen to believe that they’ve been married for 50 years and have never loved anyone but each other.

Because sometimes it’s nice to believe that love really can last a lifetime.

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Sometimes when I lay my head down on my pillow at night I close my eyes and imagine I am in another place, another time. I imagine that when I open my eyes I will be in my childhood bedroom, my university dorm, the rickety cot at a friend’s cottage, the beautiful resort where I spent my honeymoon. It’s interesting to think of all of the different places my head has rested over the years.

Then I ask myself – if I could pick one to go back to, even just for a day, which one would it be?

The answer changes depending on my mood. Sometimes I choose the bedroom where I grew up, often during the summer before I said my goodbyes and moved away for university. Sometimes it’s the hotel room I slept in, surrounded by my closest friends, the night before my wedding day. From time to time it’s in the first house that was truly mine, in the blissful days leading up to the arrival of my son. The list goes on and on.

It’s nice to imagine going back, re-experiencing some of those times, but in reality I wouldn’t want to go back for fear of changing something; of inadvertently altering the path that led me to where I am now.

Because in truth, the bed I sleep in now, down the hall from where my kids rest their heads, with my pillow laying next to the man I have loved for almost half my life, is exactly where I want to be.

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