I can’t believe it, but it’s already time to register for fall classes. And I can’t believe it even more that after this summer, I won’t have anymore classes to register for. This summer, I’m taking my final fiction writing seminar in Florence, and next year it’s just a matter of finishing up my thesis hours before my scholarship runs out. Finishing thesis hours = finishing my first novel. So in my mind, it’s no small matter.
Time is such a paradoxical thing: by nature, it is regimented, unchanging; the clock never stops ticking, nor does it ever chance its pace. But the way time feels to us, subjectively, is infinitely different than that. I am about to finish my third year of my MFA program, and it’s simultaneously taken forever to complete and also, no time at all. That’s how my senior students describe their time in high school, and I guess that feeling never changes. High school went fast, college went faster, and life after college has gone fastest of all.
Will it ever slow down, or is this what happens: it keeps going faster and faster the older you get? I suspect that maybe it does. And if that’s the case—let’s all get moving and finish those books of ours!