Something in the air felt off, leaving him thankful for the stableness of the bench he rested upon. The bench’s iron had been cast by his father’s father in the long ago. He and his father had twice changed out it’s wooden slats in the not so long ago, just as he and his own son kept them painted against the weather in the here and now. No, it was not the bench. The bench was solid.

And it was not her. He watched her from the bench as she buzzed the garden, happy as any busy bee; deadheading here, weeding there, busy as any happy bee. These were his morning tasks, to wait and to watch, simple tasks which he never minded. Tasks not so frenetic as hers, though today felt different. Infinitely different. He could not place what exactly, yet today undoubtedly harbored some worrisome, as yet unrecognizable difference within it that thankfully was not her, her hovering nature feeling as solid to him as was his bench.

She turned time-to-time, checking, worrying over him even as she smiled kind affections his way. Of course, the smiling was born of the worrying. It made her happy, worrying… the work of it. She always was a worker. It was why she was so fond of him, he had long since ascertained, because he somehow thrived when worked and worried over, just as her garden did. He did allow it, didn’t he? The worrying over? Had even grown to encourage it, as her smile was one more tiny thing amongst all of those other little things she had done and given over the years which made him hers. Yet even as he watched her smile it gloomed, souring over, the initial vestiges of concern crinkling into her worry. It seemed she had finally noticed the difference in the morning as well.

And there was a difference. He could tell it. A decided one. He set to work to place the day’s difference, and he discovered some things. The June sun burned less brassy. The air had tilted strangely towards cool, and the songbirds toward still. Subtle these, but different. Perhaps the difference was in the day itself then, in its staleness, in its lack of breath. Perhaps.

She walked towards him, slowly, younger than moments ago, but no less concerned.

”JB? Are you ok?”

It was silly, but she always questioned, sometimes questioning her questions, seeking affirmation, seeming to find value in his, as though his affirmations were better than any other.

Like now. “JB? Honey?” Always the questions.

He saw no cause for reply, and held no breath to form one. There was simply no affirmation left in him to give to her. She must find her own now, he supposed, as he seemed only able to look on, and to well-wish, happy though he was to see her, and to hear her the concern in her voice.

Happily surprised to hear and see her, that is, being he was gone. And there lay the real difference in the day, he supposed… being gone, and feeling oddly neutral about that.

At his side she took his hand, hers tenderly warm around the stiffness of his own.

She left him then, hurrying away. “Where was more important?” He wondered. “Than here, and now?”

Beyond help, he desired none. The bench beneath him was solidly cast, and the tilted sun was no bother, nor the silence. They were sublime, in fact. The garden needed only her to be absolutely right, to be the perfect garden.

And there she came again; a butterfly, flower-to-flower-to-flower. His butterfly, her smile ever younger than before. Such a little thing, with her glance back at him, that he could spark such pretty concern from such as she.

He wondered that she was here, JB did… still… now, when alone would suit as well. That she could be. Was love that strong? Really? JB looked to her for his own affirmation, even as her eyes looked to him. No, the difference was not in her. She was as solid as his bench.

He marveled then, aware that it would always be so.

Amazed that it could ever be so.

The past 30 years of my life I have been chasing the next best thing. The next goal, and on and on and on. Nothing I ever reached was enough. For myself, and maybe also for my parents. I was afraid I'd run out of time for all the things I want to try, know, learn, feel. But recently I stopped. It actually took a while; let's say the breaking distance felt 10km long. But now I am still. I notice, that I haven't been able to feel much of what I lived through, because I did it so fast. And always with the thought in my mind that I am not fast enough yet. I am missing out on my future, I am missing out on my presence, I want to live free right now and for 10 years to come - I want to have children of my own, preferably yesterday. I took FOMO and brought it to the next level. And even right now I think: "That is an achievement as well!". But, just like many on my Instagram feed, I don't want to achieve anymore. I want to enjoy. And apparently, those two are mutially exclusive, as long as my addiction stands. So, achievement detox it is.

And do you know what I noticed? It doesn't look like sunset just yet. I am standing in the yellow and orange of my dawn, cold and warm at the same time. I am not chasing the light, it's coming toward me, on its own. And it's silent. and it's glorious. all I need to do is stand there.

Time flies when we're having fun.

Isn't that what they say? I sometimes wonder who "they" are, just as you are wondering right now but let's not digress. If time is flying past us, we must be having fun. right? Perhaps.

This friend (who is also a philosopher and guide) called the other day. Yeah, no text, no email. An actual voice call.

"What're you doing this weekend, buddy?" he asked. I could sense the excitement in his voice.

"It's only Monday, mate!" I groaned, "Still trying to unbury myself from the inbox."

He laughed. "I've got two tickets to the game on Saturday."

"Ooh, noice!"

"Yeah, let me know when you manage to surface!"

As the call disconnected, the speed of my email management doubled. Only 5 sleeps to go, I thought and smiled. The rest of the week went by in anticipation, in the impending thrill. I spent my free time checking team stats and rankings, taking bets on the chances of our side, and so forth.

Next Monday, I was on a video call with a colleague.

"So, how was your weekend?" he inquired.

"Great, just great. We went for the basketball game at Sydney Olympic Park. Beat the Kiwis with a safe margin. Loads of fun! How about you?"

He then proceeded to share details of his outing with the family. Then we got down to business.

As the call ended and I dove back into the inbox, a thought hit me:

"Where did the week go?"

My whole life I have been looking towards the future. Looking for my freedom. And now as I am approaching my senior year I am realizing I want to go back but I can't. It is physically impossible for me to go back to my third-grade class when we won our grade-wide dodgeball game. I can't go back to my first time going to the mall alone thinking I was so cool and mature. I can't go back to the moment I realized my best friend had replaced me. I can't go back to the time my dad drove me to my first high school party as I freaked out inside. I can't go back to the moment I changed the trajectory of my high school experience forever and I know now I can't go back at all. Everyone has days to savor the moment but how can you savor it when all you are looking for is the future? Even as I am writing this I am thinking about what color bedding I want in my dorm next year. I think I want to stay in the moment because I know once it's over it's gone. But I can't let myself think about that. As time passes, years pass and everyone I know gets closer to their end. I look forward to the future and my life when I'm older until I realize my dog won't be there to see me move out. My grandma won't be able to meet my husband. My mom might not be able to teach me how to raise my kids. Every day of life is so unpredictable so while I love to look ahead, it also has its downfalls.