A tale of lost burdens

The daughter of a watchmaker, since my childhood I was taught to value time, to believe the arrows to know how to stop their movement. On all my watch on the inner side is engraved from the Pope, and only the rapidly growing difference between my age in the passport and the year of his father's gift to remind me that "this is not time is that we are going through".

I never had illusions about childhood, I always wanted to grow up. But in the era of tights with two socicam on the priest at least did not have much to think about the future, about all these "live", "where to live", "with whom to live" and as the apotheosis – the "why". The world unfolded a picture in a kaleidoscope, changing with the speed of inhalation and exhalation. That night, the day, here's another candle on the cake, make a wish and blow out – all will come true.

Time was lived keenly, painfully bright as with fever. All have left a mark, imprinted on the retina, was postponed bread crumbs in the pockets of memory. Right here I hurt, here – not listened to, but there and with those you just didn't want to go, but my parents insisted. And the most terrible threat to adults: "When I die, you all will regret it".

...Today I read the news-obituaries, they meet familiar names and understand that the bitter child of the prophecy starts to come true more often, all the inevitability.

Usually fear of the time it occurs in women well as youth goes, at least in time to give birth, to hell with it already, with beauty, "tick-tock, Clarice"... But then one day, some regular Tuesday morning, you freeze in front of the mirror in the bathroom, look at myself – long, carefully, like someone else – and suddenly you realize that all of these traces of time on your body – you actually like. Like wrinkles around the eyes because you squint when you laugh; shadows under the eyes from working at night; dry thin skin on his neck. After all, it is better than any words tells that to live forever you fail, you dust, you gradually become transparent. Remember this. Celebrate it. Learn to respect the traces of time.

...And while "growing up fast other people's children", you still can not be solved on its own; narrow the circle of people you trust; make more money, easier to spend. Stop thinking for others, cease to think of their feelings. Want – let them come into your life, want to let go. The main thing is not standing in the doorway and not block traffic.

As he wrote to the St. Petersburg poetess Ksenia Zheludov, "everything important starts to happen when you feel happy to Wake up every day in myself. When you suddenly know where to put your hands during a conversation and even during that awkward silence; when you know how to pick out clothes, perfumes, spirits, and a wide range of communication manifest a cherished "their" people of one blood with you and bones who are not ashamed and not afraid to say "I love you", "I", "me bad" and that, perhaps, almost the most valuable, I feel good; when you suddenly start to go warm woolen sweaters, big jewelry, neat stuff simple and clear without words – everything that had seemed a stranger, foreigner, contrived, too art. Build relationships over time: you're not in a hurry, but try not to procrastinate. Fades the sharpness and angularity of movement, and time as flowing through you, merging with the rhythm of your heart..."

...Four years ago I photographed a young man, only "business" meeting. He was older than me, an economist, a field of interest – Finance. I was looking for while way, was head in work and study, clearly oriented towards a career.

Shortly after that ordeal with work in Minsk, he dropped everything and went to seek his fortune in Moscow. We haven't spoken, but he remembered that familiar, and that familiarity is not empty.

When a few years later, he was passing in the capital, we had an hour to fit in all these years between.

Exchanged business cards. It turned out that it occupies an excellent position in one of the largest international companies in Moscow, successful, realized, and appreciated.

We were having coffee, I looked at this young man, saw the big city has left its traces, understood that she all the same, and caught myself thinking that this is one of the richest joys of life: sitting here and so excitedly talking about who we are, on behalf of those who we werefocusing on what has yet to happen.

However, this is not about work – it's about happiness, not immediately and not impulsively, but through a series of lessons and reached peaks; about the balance of priorities, to which we have come, each his own way. And that is also the greatest gift of time: the awareness of the value of the path is equal to the accumulated soul experience.

And then one night, when the inside of unscheduled Hiroshima, appears so serene, so any "what if" ceases to exist. And it's not dreary doom, not cheap desperate darkness, and from nowhere "as necessary".

So when will become quite the edge, you know you can handle it.

Your clay has already been in the oven. published


P. S. And remember, only by changing their consumption — together we change the world! ©

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Source: gnezdo.by/blog/lost-time/


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