Holding Time

Lately, I find myself thinking a lot about time. About sadness. About joy. About my ability to hold both ends of the same rope and keep moving.

The days keep passing. College visits are being planned. February has already begun. There are mornings when the snow starts to melt and the temperature rises just enough to remind me that nothing stays frozen forever.

Uri is traveling to Spain. Itay is visiting colleges. Assaf walks the streets of Brooklyn as if he is no longer the little boy he was, and maybe he isn’t.

I ask myself how we hold time and still rejoice inside it. How we feel part of it while also feeling slightly outside the race, observing, breathing, choosing a different pace.

And what do we do with sadness?

The sadness of the years. The sadness that fuels creation. The longing. The quiet fear of what will be, what might be, who I want to become within all of this.

I am practicing gentleness. I am practicing presence. I am practicing breath.

I focus on working. On walking. On training my body. On eating well. On holding moments when we are all together. And on allowing myself, just a little, to let go.

I learned a long time ago that time cannot be fought. It can only be met with love, with acceptance, with fear, or with all of them at once.

Some mornings are gray and cold. On those days, I hold on tightly to moments of joy and gratitude while also feeling the weight. The weight of time. The weight of responsibility. The weight of becoming.

The woman I am becoming. The creator. The mother. The woman walking forward, step by step, with patience and compassion, and sometimes with sadness, carrying the weight of time.