Disco Balls Passing Time
Observing the passing of time used to discourage me. I felt behind in how I expected my life to be as I watched everyone around me get what they wanted. In my twenties, I tried to find “the one,” begin my career, and finally be able to “get my life started.” My thirties were all consumed with trying to become a mother, and I watched most people around me quickly do so. I assumed everyone else was getting what they wanted. And then, after I started telling people how I was feeling, dealing with the endless anxiety and stages of deep depression, it became clear I wasn’t alone in these feelings. Almost everyone I spoke to could identify with what I was experiencing, not all in the same manner, but rather in how we perceived the passing of time relative to our expected milestones.
And with this enlightenment, I shifted. Maybe it’s the years of therapy, turning forty, or perhaps it’s because I was so sad for so long. No matter the cause, I’m delighted with this new understanding. The freedom to make mistakes, try new things with much less fear and enjoy the passing of time has been a gift.
Coming from a background of infertility, I’ve had my share of anxiety. Times were constantly being tracked, documented, and discussed with medical professionals. I was hyper-aware of how much time had passed, how the longer it took, the less likely I would have children, and how each week of the month's hormone levels mattered. The timing was everything. And then, once I became a mother, my pregnancy lived in the shadow of my previous miscarriage. Celebrating felt risky and was only done with caution. Then, the worst happened: my daughter died, and becoming a stillborn mother took away my dreams for the future. Enjoying the passing of time wasn’t an option during any of this.
Time passing is scary. Nothing lasts forever. Understanding and, more importantly, accepting this is complicated. It means the flowers on the counter will die, and our loved ones will die, and we will die. Death is easily one of the reasons, if not the main one, why acknowledging time is so tricky.
And it’s OK to have fears wrapped up in it. The unknowns are endless, and there is a shallow comfort in denying it all. I believe the grief from my daughter's dying catapulted me out of refusal and into this acceptance. I couldn’t deny the reality I desperately wanted to escape; instead, I faced it. While this drastically altered my life, Clementine brought in a beautiful appreciation for the time I do get to live. Living in her honor feels like a privilege, and I do my best to feel the love in every way I can. Grief is an influential teacher, and recently, it’s encouraged me to notice the small passages of time.
A disco ball hangs in our front bay window that faces northeast. While we don’t receive a substantial amount of direct sunlight, the light we collect is thrilling. The arrival of spring often feels like a homecoming when the first few mirror tiles reflect the light dancing across our ceiling. I’ve been known to squeal joyfully when the first bits flicker. My phone holds multiple videos and pictures from these times of the year, and I try to capture a piece of it. Summer’s sun brings a performance twice a day. In the morning, from the west end of the window, the sunrise greets the day with small pieces of light hitting the disco ball. The evening light is where the pure bliss is, though. Sometimes, near the solstice, the sun itself will make its way into the window’s view, and while it's terribly hot during this time of year, experiencing the whole ball illuminated is divine. A way to honor the movement of the earth, the changing of the seasons, and time progressing forward.
The disco decor is something simple, something I can count on. Even on rainy days, when no light reaches the house, I sit under the ball and watch it sway from the heater vent warming the home. The delight and awe it brings continues all year long. From the window, I watch the maple tree change colors in the fall and grow new buds in the spring. Hummingbirds drink from the feeder, and the raised beds bloom with flowers. The disco ball collects a view daily, and we bask in the light together. It’s been a way for me to become present without forcing it and simply be.
Follow the call of the disco ball.