Time isn’t very logical.
Days feel long. It makes sense that months of long days would feel long too. Yet months always feel a little shorter. Years — they fly. Fast.
It washed over me the other day that our travel nursing time is over. It’s been more than a year, but sometimes I still freshly remember that we won’t do that anymore. No more waking on Tuesday to head to the ocean without a plan. We’ve already ridden over the bridge, surprised the moose, picked the fall apples, and fallen asleep next to the fire in Maine. We’ve already done it. We waited and waited to get started and we’re already done.
I remember days when Charlie was at the hospital and I didn’t have anywhere to volunteer for whatever reason. Those days felt so slow sometimes. Yet all together, they flew by so fast.
We’re waiting again for the next chapter in our family. The days feel long as our hearts stay full to the brim with love that’s longing for a new place to grow. But I know in time (whenever that is), I’ll find myself saying, “I can’t believe the waiting’s already done.”
The waiting days feel long, but I’m hoping their season will somehow feel short.
It seems to work like that.