Letter to Time

Dear Time,

I am 29 now. Before I knew more about you I was starstruck, caught up in the vision of the midnight Idaho summer skies. Hours I could only measure from the change of clouds. As a kid I knew it was summer when talk of grizzly bears was the topic. As I rode inside a car full of friends who were more like family, the 8-hour drive from Oregon to Idaho felt like six minutes; that’s six seconds for a kid. I remember vividly, although I was too naive to truly recognize you or understand how you saw me, as I peered through that sunroof and glimpsed the stars, my only question was how far. If I were to go back to that memory in which you froze, I would know that through the glimmer of those tiny little stars you were winking at me through the sunroof, hoping that I would remember you as I aged and through the beauty of the world.

Before I realized you were always there, dreams seemed to be longer and winters warmer. As a boy I would always come home with holes in my new pants from racing. I remember 1st grade, and how for some odd reason I dreamed to be the fastest person in the world. I raced all of my friends, and although I would keep track of how many races I won, I never thought about counting you in the seconds I won those races in. Later on I would realize how significant of a role you played in my life, and if I could not measure you properly, those long dreams and warm winters I had would begin to dim. If I could not measure you, then I was never really winning those races; instead I was just moving through moments that would leave me before I knew how to truly hold on to them.

Before I understood you, I was in 4th grade, and competing in the school limbo contest with hundreds of students and teachers chanting my name. Khaylub! Khaylub! Khaylub! The entire gym boomed so loud that I could not hear your tick through the biggest clock at the school. When it came down to the last students competing I remember the limbo bar was set to 19 inches, and I was next. In these moments you began to slow. As I scooted below the bar, each step you slowed down almost to the point of freezing. I remember how it made me feel, as if the entire world tilted at that moment, and with it I fell in shame. When I reflect back to the moment, I think you were hinting to me that failure is a part of time, and whether I get up with a face full of cold tears or stay down and act like nothing happened, you will always keep passing even when I am in limbo.

Before our dance with limerence, I did not know that if I lost track of you, I would lose to those who cherished you more. I remember that even though I was still very naive at the age of 16, I was told something by my football coach that made me aware how precious you truly are: “Remember, while you’re sleeping there are others with the same dream as yours working overtime.” This is the moment in my life it felt as if the world froze again and the stars winked back. I no longer misunderstood you, and I knew I had to obsess about you in order to bring to life all the dreams I hoped for in myself. As I reflect now I realize that you were trying to tell me to never take you for granted again. After this experience I would always remember to truly appreciate you.

Before I learned to chase you, it seemed as if I had no worries in life. I could wake up and not worry about you passing me by. I remember during my junior year of high school, when I chose to commit to you, how hard I worked just to be able to play Division One football later on. It seemed as if me and you battled together, throughout all the exhaustion, tense workouts, late nights, and early mornings, that we had a goal together. Every day the fear of losing you was the first thing on my mind. I thought if I put in 100% effort in my speed to get things done, that I would have enough of you left over. Consequently, I was wrong, and just like I failed in winning the limbo contest in my early years, I also failed at becoming a professional football player.

Before you taught me patience I was speeding to the hospital to welcome my daughter’s first breath of life. From the outside looking in, people might have judged me because even in the face of failure, I could not find a way to let you go. In those moments I was an immature 20-year-old that was addicted to the rush of chasing you, because I was afraid of losing out on beautiful moments. I remember vividly when my daughter was born and I got to hold her, how you were able to freeze everything around me. I remember how I played the Lion King song, “The Circle of Life,” and you watched back through the twinkle of my daughter’s eyes. As I reflect from that memory of you, I cannot help but think how similar my daughter’s eyes mirrored the starry night of those Idaho skies.

I am only 29 now. I know that I will never fully understand you, and I will never understand why I have to fail so many times even when I prioritize you in every waking moment. I know that if I learn to balance you, I might then be able to successfully pursue the happiness I dream of. A happiness in which I am no longer chasing you but aligning with you. One where my daughter can look up at her dad with those same starry eyes she was born with, and be proud of the person I become. Just like that younger version of myself, looking up through that sunroof during that starry night and thinking, how far? I hope that my pursuit of you brings more memorable moments like these of nostalgia, where I imagine you slowing down and freezing yourself just to remind me that you’re there watching.

Love you always,
Khaylub Thompson-Calvin