"I'll never be a morning person. Each morning felt more exhausting than the last. I would get you and your brother out of bed and dressed for school. I would scrap together some breakfast for you, then somehow we would manage to leave the house and get in the car. The thing I remember most was the car ride. The ride would start out terribly. You and your brother might be fighting, there was bad traffic, we were running late, it was always something. But carefully balanced next to the gear shifter was my mug of coffee. I would take a sip and feel that warm bitterness, I would feel just a little better. By the time we got to school I would be almost done with my mug. You kids would get out, then I would be left alone to finish my commute to work. Before I drove off I would grip my mug, drink the last remaining coffee, and briefly close my eyes. It was right then for the first time each morning I felt like I could do it all again tomorrow."

-Mom

time just goes on.

Something changes once you reach a certain age, for me it was 20 years old, I think. It's like a switch is flipped and promptly ripped off the wall. It's a problem, or it certainly feels like one. It's a lonely feeling, but is crystal clear and simple. You realize that there isn't going to be enough time for everything. There used to be plenty of it left, but you realize that that can't be true anymore. And it hits you slowly:

You can't be friends with everyone you like. You can't live everywhere. You can't take every class. You can't see every country. You can't learn every language. You can't be good at every game. You can't learn every instrument. You can't hear every song. You can't hike every trail. You can't kiss every girl. You can't read every book. You can't say yes to every opportunity. And you can't stop your parents from getting older.