“It is only a week of your life,” Mom says, often, “You’ll have more time soon.” It’s only a week. The words reverberate off the walls of my mind, echoing back and back before the questioning floodwaters fill the cavern. For how long do we tell ourselves it is only a week? Until there are no more weeks to refer to? Until the waiting is done? (When is the waiting done?)

This year is only a week.

This season only a week.

Where is the balance between obligation and passion? Between seizing tomorrow and seizing today? To which belongs the heavier weight?

They say that our eyes are only able to focus on one object at a time, but can I look both tomorrow and today square in the eye?

My now and my later are tied in knots. I cannot see one without the other. Where does the one begin and the other end? Must I untangle the jumble and walk a linear path? Or is this stitching of today and to come as it is meant tot be?

To live in light of eternity…

To take the weeks are they come…

To seize the days (carpe diem, boys, make your lives extraordinary) as they come…

To take the ‘yet to come’ as it comes…