Sunday 18 November 2018

Life rushes by

I'm reminded of this line from the movie The Red Shoes: "Life rushes by, time rushes by, but the Red Shoes go on dancing forever." All of that applies to me, except for the red shoes part. Everything seems to be rushing by, and I'm floating above it all, reaching my hand out to life, but not quite grasping it, like waving your hand for a taxi that is clearly occupied. 

Jonathan Ames

A woman I was very attached to died young, at 38. She had been married to a man she loved, had three small children and many talents that were beginning to bear fruit. I was younger than she was when she died; now, I’m much older. For a long time I considered her 38 years a sort of goal. If that had been her allotted span, surely that limit could also be mine. So I thought of my life as if it would not last longer than 38 years.

I know that may seem ridiculous but, in some corner of myself, it really was like that. And, all in all, I’m glad: in many ways I had a different sense of time from my contemporaries. I ran; they lingered. I felt old and burdened by responsibilities; they seemed young and irresponsible.

I always felt that I didn’t have enough time. I went to bed late, got up early, and used any idle moment – between children, work, marital disasters – to mould myself as quickly as possible, so that I would be able to say: this is me, these are my abilities.

Elena Ferrante, Guardian column yesterday

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