Going home.

I’m not far. I live in southern California, and grew up in northern California. I have family and friends in the bay area so I visit a few times a year, but when I’m home my heart is weighed down by wistful reminders.

I’ll visit my mom at the cemetery, and put bright fresh flowers in the brass cone-shaped cup next to her niche. I’ll kneel, put one hand on top of the other in front of me on the ground, and bow deeply until my forehead is heavy on the back of my hands (a Korean tradition to pay respect). I’ll let her know the latest about her grandkids, and that her dog is living his best life.

I’ll let her know the latest about her grandkids, and that her dog is living his best life.

I go to a second cemetery to lay flowers at my mother-in-law’s grave, but the blooms will not survive for long…the deer will find them by nightfall. As I walk to my car, I ponder the tragedy of the teenage boy in the plot next to hers, who jumped up to hang on a tree branch at a local park and died when it fell on him.

I spend precious time with my father who has a cascade of health challenges.

Did you know that if you fake a smile, you can feel happy? I do a lot of that when I visit home, but even so the weight of the past ricochets around my body like an 8 ball. Heavy, durable, dark. It starts at the top of my head. It chokes my throat. My shoulders slump. My gut tightens. The knees weaken.

I usually swing by our old house to see what updates the current owners have done. They added a new window outside the dining room, and the vines on the front gate need a serious trim.

Inevitably, I drive by places where my daughter had milestones like her first mint chip ice cream cone, her first tantrum, her first swim, the car wash where the 2 minute suds and dry triggered sobs and wails.

She’s an adult now and doesn’t remember any of it. Where does time go?

The family home, the loved ones we desperately miss, the chaos of holidays long gone…are all reminders that the past is getting further away from us. And as the past gets further away, the time ahead of us gets shorter each day.

Sadness? Some…but I feel more nostalgic than pained.

Nostalgia is a bittersweet longing or affection for the past. If I think about my childhood when kids played outside, and we listened patiently for our favorite song to play on the radio so we could record it on a cassette player, and we bought Laffy Taffy for a dime from vending machines, I feel as cozy as an oversized hoodie.

They say that humans are hard-wired to have a negativity bias, but I don’t think that’s true when it comes to nostagia. When we’re nostalgic, we lean into the good times when life was seemingly better.

When we’re nostalgic, we lean into the good times when life was seemingly better.

The past will do that to you.

Have you ever felt like the days and weeks are flying by? That you can’t remember what you did last week or the week before? A 50 year old female has a life expectancy of 33.5 years. That’s 1,742 weeks. If you’re 59 like me, it’s 1,383 weeks. That sort of terrifies me. What about you?

I’ve never thought about aging as much as I do right now in middle age, and it’s because the runway ahead of us is shorter than behind us. Yes, there’s still enough length to take off and fly, but to do so you need full power and momentum.

So it’s a great time to slough off anything and anyone that’s not working for you. A time to put your full attention and focus on what’s important, and what you want to do in your 3rd act, or 4th quarter, or winter season. To stop wasting time because years, weeks, and days are indeed flying by, and no one is entitled to any of it.