Folds of Time

Generations over the years…

In the midst of this reflective, somewhat wistful long weekend of multiple gratitudes, I was relieved to read that scientist philosophers are pretty darn certain that time isn’t linear after all. Of course, I don’t know what the proof points are for this theory, but I was relieved to see I’m not the only human out here who finds that time seems to fold in on itself. 

I’m regularly surprised when Facebook serves up a memory from a decade ago that I could have sworn was just last year. My brain still thinks I’m in my mid-20s, even though my bathroom mirror presents a version of my face that exhibits the effects of gravity in new and astonishing ways,. And while I’m certain it was just a few years ago that we were young parents, the full-grown adult children of ours prove that’s not possible.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m deeply grateful to still be upright and taking liquids, as they say. Not everyone gets the gift of aging. Certainly not everyone has the relative comfort to sit back and reflect on a life filled with adventures, even if I can’t remember when they all took place.

This morning I woke up ready to jump out of bed to run across campus to classes at Wake Forest University. The first sign I wasn’t still living in New Dorm with Carol was the crick-crackle of my hip as it swung out of bed before shooting the now-familiar pain down my leg. Yep – not in college, still in my 60s in Minneapolis after all. But the sense of time folding to touch my 20-something year old self is still with me.

It doesn’t help that I’m actually and finally going through the boxes of things I pulled out when it felt like the COVID lockdown was going to last forever. Remember that year just two and a half ago? When it was clear we had plenty of time to finally go through and sort the photos from at least four generations, but instead got sucked into the vortex of Tiger King and Ted Lasso streaming video.

Those photos present my parents as their young and vital selves actively engaged in travel and productive lives that involved a world of music education and driving us to lessons and performances. My palms still sweat when I think of the large drawing room at Kingwood Center where years of recitals and musical competitions were held. And that was more than 50 years ago.

The emotions remain fresh. The experiences real and present. So how can time have passed so quickly?

I suppose the real lesson from non-linear time is that age is just a relative construct. That means we’re never too old to make memories that will fuel our yesterdays and feed our tomorrows. Maybe we’re achy-er in the joints, needing ibuprofen after long walks and bifocals for focus. And those new bumpy spots on my face are surprising to me, but apparently not unexpected for a woman of my age – says the doctor.