20 past nine on a Thursday night, and the house is quiet, save the tap, tap tapping of my fingers on the key board.
It’s been a busy week. In laws coming to visit, not to mention awesome blogging friends; it’s been a week of sight-seeing, swimming, shopping expeditions and scrubbing the grout in the bathroom.
There’s been a bug or two, and even as I write this, my head is foggy from the dreaded man flu (I’m a sook I know), and my nose is leaky as a faucet.
But write I must.
I’ve spent the day relaxing on the couch. Watching recorded TV shows, playing Candy Crush, and reading stories with my babies, nursing this stupid cold that has wiped me out. It’s been good and necessary, and yet at the same time so frustrating. I don’t enjoy living life slow; I hate being held back. It’s not what I was made for.
I read something on Facebook this morning; can’t remember exactly what, but it was to do with the number of breaths the average person breathes in a day, and not to waste one of them. Hard not to do when you struggling on the couch for each and every one, cause Asthma has come to visit.
And then tonight I watch Tuesday night’s episode of How I Met Your Mother, and Ted is wishing he had done things differently. That in the 45 days before he met the mother, that he had sought her out. That he had known then, what he knew now, because he wanted every single one of those 45 days.
I get the sentiment. I’d give anything for extra time with my Boatman.
Earlier in the week I watched Safe Haven with the MIL, and it’s been on my mind ever since, for so many reasons. What if I were to die? Could I happily hand over Boatman’s heart to another?
And if it was he that passed, would I ever look for love again? Would anyone ever even come close to loving me, the way he does?
I don’t think it’s possible.
The overarching theme, that keeps coming back to me, is that time is precious. We don’t have an infinite amount of days or moments to love people or what we do. We only have but a moment, and we need to make it count.
As I lifted myself off the couch this evening, reaching for yet another tissue, there was nothing in me that wanted to write, and it hurt me that it was so. So much passion I have, and so much to say, and with too many events I am robbed of my time, motivation, and health. It shouldn’t be that way. With limited days, I need to put my energy into the things that make me come alive; the passions that will drive me to make a difference.
There is so much in me to give, and I feel as if even if I were to live until 100, there would still not be enough hours. So like Ted, the characters from Safe Haven, and the random Facebook Page I saw this morning, I will choose to make each and every moment count. To pursue the things that have eternal value; to prioritise the relationships and activities that push me down the road I’m supposed to travel, and to never apologise for doing what makes me who I am.
To make every moment count.