The days must be getting shorter. An hour can no longer be an “hour†long. I’ve heard many adults complain about this effect. I must admit, that I was aware of it even as a child. Time was inconceivable and only marked by significant events such birthday parties and Christmas mornings. My university years were definitely shorter than my high school years. Now, they blend together.
It seems that there are more distractions every year. The kids are doing things. My wife and I also take on roles related to work and interests. We both want to take time to visit family and friends. And sometimes we like to have an evening by ourselves. I am not complaining. I could easily say “no†to these many demands. I say “yes†because they are important. I just needed to set up a contrast to the demands I remember from high school.
I remember having so much time. There was so much I could do in a day, or in a week. I helped the yearbook committee. I curled at least two nights a week and was a hockey official. I had a girlfriend. I’m sure I spent more time with her family than I did my own. I still had time to go out with other friends.
Friends were a major distraction. We were a tight class. It appeared that it would continue even as we all got married and had kids. It didn’t. In high school, those things I did were not distractions. They were what life is all about. They were what was important.
I remember a student standing out on the frozen lake trying to maintain a connection with his phone to a friend at home. “You were supposed to leave that off,” I said when he walked back up to the mess hall. “It was her birthday yesterday. I had to wish her happy birthday,” he defended himself. Going on a retreat means to “run away” from distractions. I was annoyed that he disrespected my rule. He appeared angry that I would try to enforce such a rule.
Later that evening, that same teen could not let go of another classmate’s hand for the final blindfold challenge. The fear of being on his own was too strong. “I can’t do it myself,” he cried loudly. I smiled and touched him lightly on the shoulder, “I will be watching. You won’t be alone. You’ll be safe.” He dropped his shoulders in acceptance and stepped into the bush toward the target. I am sure the two of them would not have completed the task if they stayed together. They would have ignored the game and only worried about each other. But they did it alone because there were no distractions.
