here was an era in
my life when I
didn’t have a
romantic partner or kids, and time stretched out before me like an endless road. Time was completely — and blissfully — my own. I took 10-mile runs along the lakefront as the sun was going down, because back then I could simply run 10 miles, and why not do that? I bought bananas one or two at a time and often ate dinner perched on the edge of my bed, watching TV. I went to the movies by myself and didn’t share my popcorn.
Nights were wide open, and sometimes painfully quiet. I had friends, a cat, a successful, fulfilling career, but I ached for more. Little did I know that this was my golden era for free/me time.
Fast forward to today, and I still have friends, two cats, a successful and fulfilling (different) career, as well as a life partner, a house, and two incredible sons. The thing I miss most from those days (other than the body that could run 10 miles without a second thought) is time.
I always hoped I’d have a family, and I’m grateful luck and fate have found me here, but for so many years, there have been precious few moments of my own time. Babies and young kids have a way of taking up every moment in the day, like the foam insulation that you spray into spaces, and it expands to fill even the tiniest crevice. There’s no room for anything else, and it’s exhausting and sometimes suffocating.
T