I oversee a sleepover, dressed in fuzzy lounge pants and an old sweatshirt, my hair pulled up in a clip. I remove dirty plates and refill bowls of food as needed, and I observe activities from a distance rather than orchestrating them as I once did. I feel older and younger, all at the same time.
There are days and weeks in life that seem to take forever to get through. We agonize over the failures and long for the vacations, as if now is the only time we can even imagine. And then we hit a milestone. And we are suddenly reminded of similar milestones. It may feel as though nothing has changed this week, but a lot has changed since last year, and even more since before that. As I supervise a sleepover from my feel young/feel old distance, I wonder what happened to the me who was once in the middle, the me who planned every detail and made sure each detail came out just as planned. Did I disappear under the weight of several years of limbo, or did I simply adapt in the way I've learned to adapt to everything during several years of limbo?
My high school history teacher always said that each little thing in history or life affects every other little or big thing. So, as I observe the sleepover, I am aware that it would be different if not for the last several years, because I would be different. And I can bemoan the difference, or I can embrace it. I ought, perhaps, to feel older, but I don't. I ought, perhaps, to feel less in control, but I don't. Things change. But when we can embrace the change, even marvel at the differences it has allowed us to see, then every night can be a kind of celebration, whether we're in the middle or at a distance.
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