As someone obsessed with my calendar, I'm always looking ahead, plotting things out and theorizing about how life is going to unfold over certain especially busy times. That leads me to feel a sense of discombobulation when those dates actually arrive, and I find I question myself with, "Today? Really?" It's like my mind can't comprehend that enough time has passed to actually be here, in those theorized moments.
This weekend is one of those. When Hannah got the invitation to attend a camp friend's bat mitzvah in Connecticut, we thought about how it might be able to work out. We thought about seeing if other locals could join her. Emails were sent, plans were made, RSVPs were sent, and somehow they're leaving this afternoon to have this weekend away. Hannah's excited, of course. But I'm left asking, "today, really?"
I first noticed this tendency in myself on June 21, 2002. I was up early at home in Ohio with my family, and getting married in two days. The "Today Show" was just coming on, and it started with its usual "today is" and the date. "Today? Really?" This date that I'd been planning towards for the past 13 months wasn't just some date on a hypothetical schedule anymore. It was real, very real--and amazing and terrifying and exciting.
But not something out in the future anymore. It was present, and all-too-soon to be past.