I’m lately thinking about the value of time. How much will I be wanting to get back to my thirties when I’m in my forties?
These days I’m sort of regretting the time I’ve pointlessly spent in my university years (not necessarily for the actual studies but all of the time in between). I think I’ll be regretting the time pointlessly spent in my thirties when I’ll be in my forties. I’m expecting myself to feel sorry that I didn’t enjoy enough sun, fresh air, nice mornings, smiles and romance while my body is in its prime time. Or maybe I won’t regret, and the life becomes more enjoyable the older you get, apart from all of the pain here and there.
To play on that fairly sad note, I’m waiting for tree blossom every year, and every year I’m paying more and more attention to it. But I can’t understand how can I get enough of it: I look at it, and I want to be full of looking at it so that I have a nice memory, but it feels like it goes in and out — it doesn’t stick. And then I can’t get enough of looking at the blossom. “The eye never has enough of seeing.”