I am seriously considering making myself a "swear" jar.  However the "swear" isn't your run-of-the-mill swear word.  It isn't even a word.  It is a sentence; one that drives me absolutely potty and yet I seem incapable of preventing myself from saying it (and usually with a dramatic sigh, roll of the eyes and a slump of the shoulders). What is this sentence, you ask? Well, it is this:

"Where HAS time gone?"

It annoys me because, technically, it's a completely redundant question.  Time has gone because that is, fundamentally, what time does - it passes.  I learnt this as a child, it's proven on a regular AND frequent basis (you just have to watch a clock to get the necessary evidence) so to question it surely is an utterly futile exercise.

And yet...I know I'm not the only one to ask this question.  I know it because when I do utter the cursed phrase in company of others, there is usually much head nodding and replies of "I knooooow! I could have sworn it was [insert appropriately long enough in the past event] yesterday.  How times flies!"  I have also been witness to other, similar examples; e.g. "when did so-and-so get SOOOO grown-up?" and "has it REALLY been six months since we...?"

So perhaps there is some legitimacy to the question?  That it's not quite as redundant as it first appears?

I suspect the debate is a much bigger thing than can be answered here and probably involves heated discussion between physicists, mathematicians, philosophers, psychologists, spiritual leaders etc. (in my mind's eye I picture this being more of a friendly banter kind of thing that happens over a nice warm glass of mulled wine in a quintessential English country pub with a roaring log fire, dogs snoring on the rug in front of it etc...after all 'tis the season!).  All I can do is think about my own experience and draw some tentative conclusions.

As this blog is about my relationship with Bob, it seems only fitting to start there.  Throughout my life, Bob has often used time as a way of shaming me; statements such as "you're not getting any younger" and "you're lagging behind everyone else! Hurry up or they'll leave you behind" filtered through my consciousness. I welcomed them as I assumed that they would motivate me to do great things.  I fully embraced setting SMART goals for the same reason - by setting a time limit, I was guaranteeing success.  The problem was that when I missed those deadlines, even if it was for totally legitimate reasons, I would hate myself and feel worthless and wholly demotivated.  I learnt to normalise excessive workload levels in my job because "time means money and money is what keeps the business afloat"; work-life balance was an equation I could not compute.

The worst experience of "time" impacting my life came around three years ago.  I was suffering from extreme fatigue and had been for months (if not years).  I had put it down to a LOT of other things going on in my life and had therefore gotten into the habit of saying "it'll get better once X is finished" and then ignoring the fact that the "deadline" came and went but, funnily enough, "it" never did get better.  I was saying to myself "just keep going" and "push through it...there's only a little bit more time to go until you're on holiday/can take a break" and existing on a LOT of caffeine and sugar to keep myself going.  I can't remember what finally triggered the realisation that something wasn't right, but I ended up going to the doctor to get blood tests.  Five weeks later (and only because I was on holiday for two of them) I was having major surgery to remove a 7 pound cyst from my ovaries, which also resulted in a full removal of my reproductive organs as it was found to be cancerous (luckily very early stage so no further treatment was required).  The thing that made it the worst experience though, weirdly, wasn't the surgery, the pain I was in afterwards or the horrendous symptoms of menopause I found thrust upon me; it was the fact that the most frequent comments I got from people (not my family or closest friends I hasten to add) were along the lines of "the hardest part, of course, is the fact that you'll NEVER have children- it's too late".

To be honest, the first few times I heard this sentiment I fully expected Bob to come swooping in and labour the point until I was a total mess.

But...

This is where the worst experience of "time" became one of my best "I am enough/worthy" experiences; because, to have my story reduced to a simple "failure to meet a deadline" plot line sent me incandescent with rage - mentally, emotionally and spiritually (the violently hot flushes that came with surgical menopause probably added some physical heat too!); especially as the "goal" and "deadline" were ones that

a) I fundamentally disagree with - children do NOT have to be biologically related to you for them to be YOUR CHILDREN (and no, adoption/surrogacy was NEVER mentioned, just the lack of my ability to give birth) and,

b) I had thought long and hard about and had long decided I preferred to have "fur children" and so it wasn't even a remote consideration for me (if anything I was rejoicing over the fact that I wouldn't have the hassle of dealing with the agonising periods I'd suffered with for years).

As a result, Bob was successfully silenced in the first attack.  I also stood up for myself when such comments came my way, remaining authentically me throughout and telling MY truth rather than theirs (even when they hated it).

The experience also changed my mindset on what "time" actually means.  It now feels more like an arbitrary label we attach to stuff to try and make sense of the world around us.  As such, we have more control over it than we might think.  I no longer MUST have a deadline to achieve every little thing; when it is appropriate to do so THEN I'll add one (e.g. submitting my tax returns!!).  I find it easier to be mindful, to notice what is happening "now" rather than getting stuck in the past or only looking to the future.  I do still get annoyed at the fact that it is the end of October when it really did feel like the end of March just yesterday (I'll put £1 in the "swear jar" I promise) but I get over it a LOT quicker.  I am also 10000% more grateful for my filofax - it does all the worrying about time for me AND gifts me with the ability to physically throw away 6 months in a flash because it has limited space and I don't need the reminders (I am conveniently ignoring the fact that my email inbox currently has over 4000 emails because I don't delete ANYTHING!!)