Every Moment

My writing comes from the deepest places in my mind. Somewhere down the line in my life, I found saying words was much harder than writing them. Hence, my blog. That’s even trickled into my marriage. I often feel like I can better express myself through writing rather than trying to say the words out loud. Needless to say, my wife has caught onto this trend. Each time I write, she takes a moment to investigate my words, searching for deeper meaning.

This led to the moment today where she told me to write. She said it in response to my last blog. Somewhere, I had pointed out the lack of time for writing. It is nice to be able to sit down and write, feeling some sort of designated time frame for it. I used to wake up early every morning, before my son was born, to write my book. The challenge has never been having time to write, but choosing to write.

I think designating time to something is especially important these days. If you grew up before the ever distracting waterfall of media, you’ve probably built up habits that lead to a focus effort on things you love. If you grew up with that media waterfall, you’ve likely been caught up in the curling wake at the bottom, often tossing yourself in doomscrolling or following pointless stories for entertainment. There’s always a sport to catch up on, a video game to play, a movie you have to see. It all adds up. There’s so much of it, and it’s so easy to get caught in. Time to do things that take even the slightest bit of extra effort seems burdening.

It’s not that you don’t want to do it. My wife is the same way with decor. She loves getting it, taking and editing pictures, decorating, and even selling it to someone who can really love it. Yet it takes work, and when you’ve spent an entire day doing work that has to get done, it’s hard to choose more work no matter how much you enjoy it. So you’re left doomscrolling, telling yourself, one more, until suddenly it’s midnight and if you don’t go to bed you’ll be too tired for the necessities in the morning.

That is what inspired my poem. Time is always moving, and what we do with it, we can’t get back. Once we’ve used it, it is gone, yet its effects weigh on us. What we do with time affects who we are, what we are, and how we are. It can age us like wine or spoil us like milk. It’s so easily disposed, and yet the most precious gift we’ve been given.