Ali Elizabeth

“It Feels Like Last Year, Until It Isn’t” 

There’s something about sitting around the table with family that makes time feel both close enough to touch and impossibly far away. This weekend, while visiting with my parents, we somehow ended up laughing about the old “smoking or non-smoking?” question that every restaurant used to ask when you walked in the door. 

Back then it felt completely normal with two sections, a little sign on the table, and somehow we all believed the invisible line in the middle of the room made all the difference.  Now it sounds almost unbelievable. Kids today would probably think we were making it up. Moments like that have a funny way of reminding you just how fast time really moves.

You start thinking about something that feels like it happened last year and then you do the math and realize it’s been 5. The job you just started is suddenly the one you’ve had for years. The little kids you babysat are grown. 

That 5 year class reunion quickly becomes your 25th. The songs on the radio from your “young adult years” are now on “oldies”. Somehow, without asking our permission, whole chapters of life quietly turn into memories. When we’re young, older folks always tell us, “Life goes fast.” I remember hearing this all the time, and rolling my eyes and thinking “whatever you say”. 

Days can feel long then. Waiting feels long. Building a life feels long. Everything ahead seems wide open and slow-moving. But somewhere along the way, the calendar starts flipping faster. One year rolls into the next. Summers feel shorter. 

Christmas decorations seem to go up right after you put the last box away. You find yourself saying, “Didn’t we just do this?” more often than you ever thought you would. And the truth is, they were right.

Life does go fast.But maybe that realization isn’t meant to scare us. Maybe it’s meant to wake us up. Because if time really is this fleeting, then the small things suddenly matter more. 

The weekend visits. The long talks around the table. The ordinary dinners. The stories from our parents that sound ancient but somehow feel like yesterday to them. Those are the moments that end up holding a lifetime.

We can’t slow the clock, and none of us gets extra hours added to the day. But we can choose to be present for the time we’re given. We can linger a little longer in conversation.  Call the person we’ve been meaning to call. Sit down instead of rushing off. Laugh at the old stories, even the ones about restaurant smoking sections.

Because one day, the things happening right now will be the stories we’re telling. And if the years truly do keep going faster, then maybe the best thing we can do is fill them with the people, faith, kindness, and love that make the passing time feel meaningful instead of empty. After all, life may be fleeting, but the moments we cherish don’t have to be.