On Skin Cream & Crème Brûlée

I have a weird thing about time.

 

I always have. My mom says that as soon as I learned to read time in school, I was constantly asking what time it was. So much so that she ended up putting a clock up in every room (including bathrooms) just so I would stop asking.

 

This obsession with time has gotten me really stressed out lately. Is it possible to have a quarter life crisis? It’s honestly the strangest thing.

 

I feel like a five year old again. I’m realizing all of these things I want to do & want to be. In the past year, I have genuinely considered going back to school to become a copyright lawyer, a doctor of osteopathy, a programer, AND a cosmetic chemical engineer.

 

I don’t have enough time to learn and be ALL THE THINGS. And that stresses me out. Please tell me I’m not alone in this?

 

And it’s not even the long term ambitions that make me stressed out, it’s the day to day stuff. I want to go for a walk AND play the piano AND take epic photos AND take a bath AND spend a million hours snuggling AND read a book AND play with my dog AND discover a new place AND make the perfect crème brûlée AND workout maybe? AND learn Filipino AND sing in a choir AND… and and and and. You get the point.

 

I feel like until recently, I thought that I had all of the time in the world, and I just barely realized that time is a limited resource & you have to consciously choose what to do with it.

 

And I’m scared of getting old. I’m afraid of looking back and wishing I had done better things with my youth. And wrinkles… wrinkles scare me. (I have an overabundance of skin care products that can prove this to you.)

 

I feel grateful every day that I married my opposite.

 

Christian rarely gives a crap what time it is. Almost annoyingly so. I have to ask every night if he set an alarm for the next day. (How bad am I that I stress about HIM being on time? I’m the worrrrrst hahaha) It’s like I’m the one that makes sure that we live in the realm of reality and stick to a schedule, and he’s the one that says “Yo… take a chill pill. Take a deep breath. Gahhh, put your planners away for like two seconds (Yes, I have two planners. Don’t judge). It’s going to be okay.”

 

There was one night about a month ago that was especially bad. I was stressing about all the above (including the crème brûlée… I really wanted a nice crème brûlée) and collapsing under the pressure for no reason at all.

 

After snuggling me for an hour & me still being a little brat, Christian finally pulled up a song on his phone and started dancing with me. It was the song we danced to on our wedding day, “I’m Yours” by the Script.

We originally chose it because he played it in the car before we got married & it seemed to fit our relationship so well. “I may not have the softest touch, I may not say the words as such, but I’m Yours.” To me, it had been a song about complete devotion. But as we danced, different words started to have added meaning.

 

The very first lines say, “You touch these tired eyes of mine and map my face out line by line, and somehow growing old feels fine.” And in that instant, growing old did feel fine. Time started to mean something completely different to me.

 

It wasn’t about all of the things that I most likely wouldn’t get to do, but who I was doing all of the things I did get to do with.

 

Look, I’m still going to care obsessively about my planner(s), learning new things, doing things I love, and skin care (it’s about prevention, okay?), but I hope that I can keep this perspective with me always. I want my time to be most about the people I love and creating memories with them.

 

I’m so grateful for my boy. He’s great at reminding me to enjoy the time as it passes, instead of stressing about it passing. One day we’ll be 99 and I’ll be stressed about the the ice-cream cake for his 100th birthday melting and he’ll remind me to enjoy 99 while we have it. Until then, I’m going to enjoy 24.