Friday, 21 May 2010

Twice the Speed of Life



For some reason, I was at work tonight, missing this blog like nothing else.

Maybe I miss having people read things I write.
Maybe I miss the people I've met writing this blog (and W2TBL).

Or maybe, just maybe, I miss the actual act of writing.

I haven't written anything I felt is worthwhile in a long time. I've been so wrapped up in living life lately, in the daily grind of my job and my flat and my attempts to write, that I never feel like I have time to chronicle it all. It may also be that the people who I initially began writing this blog for have become such a part of my life that I would feel strange writing about our adventures in such a public forum.

And then I heard this song. I downloaded the album on my iPhone from the bowels of the kitchen at work whilst on shift (gotta love technology for that ;P) and I was listening to it, praying it would get me through an unexpectedly brutal shift, when it happened: I shuddered with the realization that my life is speeding by at twice the speed of life.

It's such a beautiful concept. The Speed of Life. Mine seems to be barreling by at an unbelievable speed right now and I wish I could just grab it by the collar and hold it back, slow it down, so that I can breathe a little less frantically. How the hell did I get to be 27? I wish I could just hit the pause button on life and try to catch up to how old I'm supposed to be.

Only life never works like that, now, does it? It never slows down when you want it to. That's the beauty of it. You have to learn when to savour that feeling, that incredible flavour of the unforgettable.

My birthday this year was understated. It was on purpose. I deliberately didn't try to re-do my 26th birthday. Mostly because nothing could top it. And I knew it. Even that night, over a year ago now, I could taste it in the air on Mount Washington: there was never going to be another night like that. One night wherein I met someone for the first time who I already knew I loved more than life. One night in which I would sit in a King size bed opening presents I knew I could never deserve drinking peach champagne and giggling like an idiot about Kris Letang. One night in which everything was changing even as I was drawing breath, trying to catch it for a second, to nail down that flavour in the air, that sweet, tangy taste of love, friendship and a peak moment of my life.

This year, I met someone at the Phoenix airport, rather than being the one met. This year, I got gifts that made me giggle and cry. This year, I drank beer and happy-hour margaritas instead of red wine. This year, I wasn't overwhelmed... and yet I was. This year, I spent my birthday with someone I love dearly, someone whose mere willingness to fly to Arizona to lay in the sun for a few days was her real gift to me. Her generosity and spontaneity put me to shame. And my birthday still ended up being its own little miracle.

Then, tonight I was thinking about those two birthdays and it made me realize just how much time has gone by. How different this past year has been, compared to the one that came before. I could toss around the word 'destiny' and it wouldn't be completely nuts. The 2008-2009 hockey season felt like it was destiny, like the world made it all happen just for me and my friends -girls I didn't know two years ago, who over the course of that 2008-2009 hockey season became friends with me, but more importantly, with each other- even the one of us whose team had to lose the Stanley Cup. My comparative lack of enthusiasm for this year's finals just drove home how special that was when it DID happen. Because it's not every year that you watch the same two teams go to the Cup final AGAIN. It's not every year that you bond with girls who are both crazy and incredible. It's not every year that the Stanley Cup parade is on your birthday. And that's what makes it so special. The fact that it happened at all seems almost impossible. The fact that it has brought so many people I care about together. The fact that all our memories of that Cup-run will always be unbelievably intertwined with the people with whom we watched those games, the friends we met, the players we cheered for, the teams in whom we invested our trust that they could bring home glory.

And they did.

They made it unforgettable. But we made it more unforgettable.

It makes me wonder if any season will ever reek of destiny the same way ever again. Will I ever be able to separate these people from that memory? Will any of us feel as good when our team wins the Cup again? Will it be as special? Or was it that much more intense because so many things came together that season? Because of the friendships that blossomed, and because of the almost blind faith with which we believed that the Penguins were going to win the Cup.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it will never be the same again. It can't be. And maybe that's for the best. Because there have to be things that top the list in life. I feel blessed that I have that on my list at all.

It's sad that it can't last forever, because it felt so damn good while it lasted. You can tell yourself that it's just life, that it's just how it is, and that, at some point, you have to get back to the grind of the real world. Truth is, the real beauty is taking a bit of the incredible back to the everyday. Finding a way to work that into your everyday life. I still haven't figured it out. Maybe I'll figure it out someday. In the meantime, I try to remember those incredible days, on the tops of mountains and in the blinding sunshine by resort pools and crying in pubs when Crosby raised the Cup, and I do my best to love the people who made those days so special.

But life's going by way too damn fast, regardless.

1 comment:

Susan said...

I have missed reading this blog and I'm so glad you are back! Even though it is a cliche, sometimes you just have to put on the brakes and stop and smell the roses. Otherwise, life rushes by too fast. :-)