The Steam Train of Time: A Reflection on entering my last year of 30’s

As a kid, each summer was a lifetime. Two months were two years. I remember snow cones and floating in the river at Laverne, pickle-popsicles and water-tubing at Hugo. Going to the library and trying to read enough books to earn a personal pan pizza from the Pizza Hut reading competition. Laying on my back and watching the grazing clouds. I remember eating Cheese-It’s with my dad while watching endless Cubs games. (Sometimes, to our great dissatisfaction, mom would buy the generic brand, “cheese-nips.” These kinds of atrocities cause people to go to therapy.) I remember eating ripe summer peaches and garden-picked fried okra.

But summers and childhood don’t last forever.

Time is a steam train. My 8 years of watching Thomas the Train have made me quite the train-expert, so you can trust me. In the first 20 years of life, the steam train is leaving the station. It takes a while to gather momentum and get the wheels cranking. Life seems to crawl along.

But then the next 10, the train picks up some momentum. In my 20s, I realized I had to make money and pay bills. My mind focused on the busyness of life. There was less time to laydown and watch the clouds.

By the time you get to your 30s, the train is chugging right along. On my 30th birthday, I found out Lori was pregnant with our first child. Since then, we’ve had 3 kids, lived in 3 states, done a lot of dishes and watched life blur through the window. The peppered beard, wrinkles around my eyes, and back pain are signs that this train ain’t slowing down.

As my elders, mentors, and betters remind me—the train keeps chugging , keeps picking up speed. Sometimes this makes me forlorn—longing for my kids to stop growing so fast (by the way, I’m not allowing my daughter to date until she’s 28.) Or wanting to return to times of old. But mostly, it makes me want to soak up the present moment. Because time is a weird thing, it can speed up or slow down depending on where we put our awareness.

Kids are masters at this. They don’t think about next month’s rent payment or what the economy is doing to their investments. They live in the moment, soaking up each bit. In doing so, time seems to slow down.

So, for the last year in my 30s, here are 3 things I want to learn from my kids:

Get Lost in Creation

I’m listening to my daughter play in her room, with barbies and action figures. She is whispering, but I can hear the conversations and plot points of the characters. She has created a world and gotten lost in it. Recently, she started writing some stories that she wants to turn into a 10-part series. It’s about a group of kids that get sucked into a mirror that transports them to Africa.

Humans were born to create, not just to consume.

This year I finally want to start writing one of the book ideas I’ve had for years. Do I expect it to be read by anyone other than my wife and mom? Nope. Could I spend that time on more practical efforts like learning about cryptocurrency or cleaning the garage, or trying to find out where my abs are located? Yup.

But I want to get lost in creation. Not to make a product, but to enjoy the process.

Care Less About What You Think

My middle child embraces his quirkiness. Last week while we were camping in Big Sur, he found a rubber band and placed it in strategic places around his face to make it contorted and weird and made me take pictures of him. He’s got a unique way of seeing the world and I hope he never loses it, not conforming to the standards of society around him.

The truth is, I’ve always cared about what you think. I’m good at pretending that I don’t care, and really, I don’t want to care, but I care. I’ve always wanted you to think that I’m cool and calm and somewhat sophisticated.

But in reality, I’m a weird and quirky dude. I’m the guy that drives a truck while listening to Broadway musicals. I’ve been in ministry my entire adult life, but feel more comfortable around “regular” people than church people. I have a weird sense of humor. I read 3 obituaries a day. I think 5am is a beautiful time to wake up every day.

It’s exhausting trying to portray an image you think others expect. I want to stop.

Laugh and Swing for Hours

My youngest can swing in our backyard for hours. That’s not an exaggeration. He would swing as long as my triceps would allow him to. He is our fun-loving, joyful, naturally caffeinated bundle of joy. And it radiates off of him.

The train is chugging along and it’s inevitable, but I don’t want to waste time worrying about it. I don’t want to waste time fretting about the details and mistakes. I want to swing and laugh and smile and play.

Maybe that’s what this polarized, divisive, anxious world needs more than anything.

So, instead of worrying about how fast the train is traveling, I hope to focus on the seat I’m in and the people who are there with me. Maybe, through this focus, time will slow down a bit.

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