- - July 4, 2019 -

That Time I Used to Be …

I don’t wear a watch.

There was a time in the mid-eighties that you were an absolute nobody if you did not own a Swatch watch with a minimum of 3 change out wrist bands and know the words to Duran  Duran’s Hungry Like The Wolf.

You were a nobody.

In my midlife, I now choose to monitor time by the location of the sun.
Ok not really.

I choose to ‘un-monitor’ time.

Ok I’m lying again. I’m a ‘non watch wearing’ poser.

I actually play a game with my cell phone where I guess a time, click on my phone, see that I have messages, get side-tracked, check my messages, forget
that I was checking the time, and start the time telling process all over again.

I wrestle with time.

I set my clock in my car to be exactly 8 minutes ahead. I know it is 8 minutes, but I methodically count time backwards while I head to appointments or to work, making sure the clock is right – or 8 minutes
wrong, as I planned.  I still wind up just barely on time because I allow for the 8 minute buffer. I’ll get there when I get there.   Probably early or more probably late, but I promise to get there.

Time is this thing that sits out there in wait – for some as a predator, death and age with wrinkles and taxes and deadlines and predetermined failures. For others time appears as open hands that will you onward toward a place, a goal, a person, a new you, a promise you made, a station in life, healing,
repentance, pardon, advancement, purpose. It’s all a matter of perspective.

There are over 100 women who sit on this forum, from every walk of life and all of whom share the important title of being inspirational to those around them.

Read their bios. Every bio is unique.

But one archetypal symbol holds true in every story these women have written – their reference to time.

Some of our nominees look backward through time – ‘there was once a time I was abused, I was lonely, I was financially broken, I was on a different career path, I wasn’t healthy, I used to be healthy, there was a time I was afraid to try, a time I was married, a time I was scared to admit the truth of who I was, a time I didn’t know how I’d get here…’ These are the women who have enough time under their wings to look back with a fresh perspective.

Reflection of time.   Reflection of lives lived.   Reflection of accomplishment.

And then there are the other women. The ones who are preparing to strap themselves to time and saddle up for a ride toward their goals. The young ones, that next generation who uses time to their advantage to save the world with cupcakes – one cupcake at a time, one good deed at a time, one
planned step at a time.

Or the others, who aren’t sure how or why, but embark on a new adventure late in life to use up every last standing ounce of time to their advantage, to their bucket list, to their goals, to propel humanity in a direction that is the stuff of legacies, the stuff of passion.

When you read their stories, think of your own story. Reflect backward through time, or project yourself forward on your mission.

These women are all inspiring because they have saddled time, they have reigned it in for the ride of one passionate life well lived.

Passion is timeless.

They did not require the sorcery of an 8 minute buffer.

It is high time I reset my car clock.