PaperWork: It’s January, but are you feeling ‘time’s wintry rage’?

My friend Joan was lamenting the speed of life.

New Year’s Eve was a day away and she was remembering earlier days in Ottawa, where we worked together for many years.

She wrote to friends on social media: “25 years. Blink. Gone. I remember the months and weeks leading up to the ‘New Millennium’ and the havoc it could cause as everything changed from the 1900s to 2000. Due diligence at my place of employment, The Daily Times in Ottawa, Ill., meant many hours of conversation – ‘what if’ and ‘how to fix it’ plans.

“As we all left work that New Year’s Eve, the usual smiles, laughter, hugs and kisses on cheeks as our farewell to an old year really didn’t have a sense of doom and gloom, at least for me!

“I’m pretty sure I stayed home that NYE, watching television and East Coast coverage to see if the ball dropped at midnight in NYC, or if it was confused by the change to 2000. It went off without a hitch, and it was business as usual at my newspaper on Jan. 2, 2000.

“Today, my aging self asks ... how can 25 years be a blink, and gone!”

I stayed stuck on those words: “Blink. Gone.” She is not alone. Comes with aging. I feel the same mixture of sadness and regret and longing for more control over time.

January always slides fast into February, and then I’m being dragged into the rapid advance of a new year.

As I write this it’s 2.6 degrees on my front porch. I’m frozen in place but, of course, it has no effect on time. So how does the slow rotation of the globe become a blink?

I keep thinking it doesn’t change pace. Ever. But I do. I hurry through a busy day or drag through the hours waiting. Then it’s tomorrow ... exactly 24 hours later.

I admire people who keep journals that record years over years. They can go back page by page. The proof is there. Each day speaks for itself. What was done or not done.

Each day has its own story. We remember certain days, some standout moments. Both sad and happy. But we forget the details of each day that likely included something important, worthy of noting in a journal. (I keep coming back to the importance of journals.)

Then we get older and want to live the story again or maybe rewrite it. And wonder why it went so fast.

Maybe because it’s so cold outside and I am feeling the seasons of my life, but I find myself rereading a bit of prose called “Winter of Our Lives.” This powerful short essay has spread quickly through social media, sadly without noting an author.

Poet Robert Burns called it: “Time’s wintry rage.” Many writers describe old age as the winter of our life. This piece before me asks the eventual question:

“But, here it is ... the winter of my life and it catches me by surprise. How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go and where did my youth go?”

The author details the impact of aging. Moving slower. Gray hair. The need for naps. Regrets but also proud moments. And this: “The things you used to care to do, you no longer care to do, but you really do care that you don’t care to do them anymore.”

And there is the usual warning to younger minds too busy to listen:

“So, if you’re not in your winter yet ... let me remind you that it will be here faster than you think. So, whatever you would like to accomplish in your life please do it quickly. Life goes by quickly. So, do what you can today, as you can never be sure whether this is your winter or not!”

Yeah, it always comes down to that message. But, hey, I hope to be around as winter gives in to spring. I can tell myself to grab the gusto in every day no matter how old I am – even if I grip with less muscle.

There will never be enough muscle, though, to stop time, which is never really gone. It’s always coming. And the only time to use time is now.

And if there’s one thing that moves fast as a blink ... it’s now.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.