Dear Blog Reader,

Have you ever wondered about how time seems to pass way too fast when we are having fun and frustratingly slow when we are not?  The ironic thing is that when time slows down, we grow and learn more about ourselves than when we skip and hop over the hard part.  Time is our most valuable asset, it shows us the truth, heals wounds, helps us forgive and forget, and it teaches us the lessons we need when we need them, so why rush it? Can we find joy in the process?

As a child I remember having a lot of time on my hands.  I am the youngest of five siblings (and when I say youngest, I mean much younger than the others) which meant I was often alone.  I was raised in a strict Catholic household and attended an all-girls Catholic school which meant that there was not much time for adventure or misbehavior, though neither really crossed my mind.  My strict upbringing meant that I had to go straight home after school, and that I was rarely allowed to go out and play or visit a friend in the neighborhood.  I lived in a world that did not allow for much freedom outside of the home, but plenty of playtime and quiet time for my imagination to fly.  I created my own play-acting world using paper dolls as my characters… Oh the fashion! And the drama? Ooohh girl, it was scandalous.  “This bonnet is so cute; she won’t notice if I wear it today!” “Why do you always use my stuff? Take it off?” … And so, the drama only “hand-me-down” little sisters understood too well would go on until dinnertime.  There was a lot of making up stories filled with “girly” drama and building scenarios of faraway places where a seven-year-old could have an attitude and not get in trouble for it.  Even when I thought I was bored, time kept teaching me.

As the years passed and my family moved to the United States, those long and quiet afternoons became my most valuable ally when learning English.  My job, as my father often said, was to learn English well and adjust to my new life, and so my focus became just that.  My time spent reading and writing was sacred to me because it allowed my love of stories to help me stay on track.  Through life’s ups and downs, books carried me through and kept me sane.  I now see that all those years ago the time I spend alone built within me the foundation of who I was always meant to be.  Even when I focused on parenting, books were always there, holding my hand, while I unknowingly passed along the joys of time alone with a good story.  Time, in joy and sorrow, will always shows us the way.  How could it have taken me so long to see it?