nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill

I cap off four decades in less than three weeks. Mom turned 60 this week. Think back to high school. When that period passes again I’ll be the age she is now. Ouch. She’s not old. But I won’t weather like she has. I’ll be ancient.
I’ve always been fascinated with our perception of time – the way we stamp it with imaginary bookmarks like the pulse in a piece of music. The thing about time is that time isn’t really real (James Taylor). Music just flows. But we feel it pulsing with life so we put our foot down with the pulse. We stride along and pretty soon we perceive that it’s passing. Each beat brings us closer to the end of the measure, each measure toward the end of the song. On the day after my birthday, I’ll be but one day older than the day before. But the number has changed. We perceive a year in a single day. We flowed through the seasons without notice, and then, boom, the counter clicks and we’re older.
I’ve noticed the unbearable slowness of time in my children, each year an unfathomable portion of their fresh existence. I’ve vowed to experience their frustrating temporal crawl to anticipated events. I’ve learned a little to share their prolonged excitement at approaching birthdays, to empathize with the wait and experience the lengthening of the measure. But even when it passes more slowly, it still passes. Like sands in the hour glass…
I live in a paradox of sorts in my work environment. Change is constant. Each semester my schedule changes. Each year, students leave and new students arrive. There is an ebb and flow that feels good. But time is marked in 16 week increments. Got to persevere to the next break. What kind of person looks forward to the passage of time? Teachers. The hectic semester flies by and another year has passed. I think my greatest fear is not getting old. I feel fine. My wife gets more beautiful every year. The fear is in seeming old to these students who become a part of my life for four years. The change that I am most afraid of is losing the ability to step into their lives as the chronological distance between us is lengthened. Many of my friends can’t see why the big deal about getting older. We’re all getting older. Our spouses are getting older. Our colleagues are getting older. Our children are getting older. But my students never get older. When I’m 60, they will still be 20. Every year I’ll have less of a clue who they are, what they need, what they’re going through.
I didn’t realize this was going to happen, so it didn’t occur to me to save up for a red sports car. I can’t afford to trade my Honda up to a Harley. What’s a fella to do?