Time Warp
They say time is relative. They say it's a man-made construct with no meaning. If they, whoever "they" may be, were right, wouldn't warping through time be easy? I'd scrunch my face, wiggle my nose, and say "Universe, beam me to 1996." Suddenly I'd find myself standing in line to ride the Wildcat, a dangerously clacking old roller coaster in an Oklahoma City amusement park, three days before my college graduation. Or maybe I'd say "Universe, I'd like to take a peek at 2011" and I'd watch from a distance as my sweet little baby boy entered his first day of kindergarten. Would he still have the long streak of black hair shooting through his blond fuzz? Would he be well-mannered and polite or would I back away in horror and beg the universe to send me home so I could read up on discipline techniques?
As much as I might like to fast-forward through the days that involve teething-induced screaming and infant diarrhea, or to hit rewind and re-live the first kiss I shared with my husband, I must live my life in the present. I can close my eyes and conjure up rose-colored memories of the past. I can pretend I don't know what day is clearly marked on the calendar. I can try to convince myself that if I open my eyes I'll be in another time and another place, but the simple truth is that my imagination fails me every time I try to escape the confines of time.
My brain is packed tight with events from the past, urgencies of the present and dreams of the future. When my eyes are closed and visions of the past invade my brain I can't push out my present circumstances. I can't pretend they never happened. I can't forget my child, my husband, my career. To really warp back in time I'd have to have my brain wiped clean, and frankly, I wouldn't want to do that. I'm too happy with my present.
I wouldn't want to warp into the future, either, not if I had to stay there. As much as I might wish to skip an hour here or a day there, I wouldn't want to miss out on all tiny details that define my current life. Instead, I savor each little "da da daaaaaaaaaaa" that my son shrieks out with glee. I stare at my face and try to commit it to memory. I know I'm getting older and when I'm 83 I want to remember what I was like before time had her wicked way with me.
Still, there are moments I wish I could have a pre-view of what my future might hold. I never, ever could have imagined that I'd be a loved wife and mother living in the suburbs of Washington, D.C. I grew up believing I was unlovable. I couldn't fathom the idea of a husband--someone who would actually love me. As a small town girl from Hicksville, OR, I never could have grasped the idea of living on the east coast, right in the hub of all the political action. I never wanted to be a teacher, yet I became one only to walk out on that career. I never wanted to be a mother, yet I am one and I love my little baby bugger with every ounce of love ever sent into the world. What would a glimpse of the future show me? Would I be spending my twilight years in the deserts of Africa? Will my son be the first man to walk across Mars? Will I be a victim in a war against aliens from the planet Utleana? Or will I be an ambassador to Sweden?
I suppose it doesn't matter. Time can't be warped. We can take a mental ride back in time, as our feature contributors in this issue all have, and revel in memories, but at the end of the day we must come back to the present. I can only hope that we are all living our present so fully that we will want to come back and re-visit the memories we're making right now.