Photo by Noelle Gomez

Noelle Gomez, Staff Writer

I think in a past life, I must have been someone who had a lot of time on their hands. I often find myself sitting at my window, a book whose paper is torn at the edges in my hands, staring out at the sky, taking hours to read only a few sentences. Time passes quickly. Time always passes so fast. Even on the days where I find myself out of breath, running to catch up with the horizon, the moon always beats me to the sun.


I drag my feet when I walk. My brother tells me that I take forever to get ready, especially when I’m tying my shoes. It takes me an hour to boil pasta. I don’t spend time folding my clothes. I take the long way when I drive. I spend hours doing simple homework assignments. Sometimes it takes me days to text someone back. I make my friends wait for me after school.

Photo by Noelle Gomez


Life is often characterized by the big moments, by the grand periods of time where things are either going wonderfully well or terribly bad. I think we should stop measuring life this way. I can hardly remember my past birthday parties, getting my driver’s license, or my first kiss. These giant moments in life that people say you will never forget, I’ve already forgotten.


But you know what I do remember? Running through the rain on a summer afternoon with my best friend, saving garbage cans from the gutter’s currents. Sitting on the floor of Barnes and Noble as my mom pestered me to hurry up because I was spending too much time feeling and reading the individual spines of the books that had caught my eye. The first time I played a record on my record player. Walking to Kwik Trip and getting milkshakes with my brother, and then swinging on the swings at the park until our stomachs ached. Writing letters to my friends and receiving so many that I made a memory box to keep them in.

Art by Emma Phillips

Life is often characterized by big moments that will most definitely define us, but I’d like to think that there is something special about moving slowly between them. That there’s value and beauty in remembering how you got to all the parts of yourself. That it’s important to remember and enjoy the most simple of days. That you shouldn’t rush your growth, especially when you are just on the verge of something as big and scary and drastic (and a little sad) as graduating, moving away from home, and becoming your own person. You shouldn’t rush anything at all–whether that be leaving the small town you have grown up in, enjoying the time it takes to drive home after getting groceries, or making your friends wait at your locker for you to trudge across the school after a long day, a gift for them in your bag.


So yes. I may be constantly reminded by those who love me most that I resemble a fern on a windowsill; lazy and lush, growing so slowly toward the afternoon sun that at a first glance you might miss it, but I will continue taking my time to soak every ounce of that precious light up.