Editor column: Where has the time gone?
It feels like this space has covered pretty serious subject matter, which is admittedly an abnormality, the past couple of weeks.
Yes, there is a slight variance in the degree of seriousness — forgetting the sunscreen is not quite on par with keeping a scorecard of dead classmates from high school — but they’re both pretty serious considering the ground normally covered here.
(Update: Days after publishing the column titled “Death knocks again” another high school classmate died. I had not talked to him in years, but based on my experiences with him in high school, the fact he was still alive was more of a surprise than his actual death.)
With all the heavy stuff, I didn’t even get to write much about my vacation, which already feels like an eternity ago, or preview the visit my younger brother and father made this past weekend, which feels like it was much more than just a few days ago.
People, it’s now September.
We are two-thirds of the way through 2016. It’s starting to get chilly at night. Pretty soon the Christmas decorations will start going up, if they haven’t already, and I’ll have to write another curmudgeonly column about it.
My two-year anniversary of moving to Colorado passed in the last month, as well as the one-year mark since Sam and I first met (not our actual dating anniversary, so I’m not in the doghouse … I think).
Two significant milestones that didn’t even register on the “this-happened” radar. Seriously, where has the time gone?
In an email to other staff members a month ago, my boss, while noting that it was already August, said pointing to the passage of time with such bemusement made him feel old.
I have to agree with him there. Just writing these words makes me feel like I should shut down the old computer and go watch “The Price is Right.”
Pretty soon I’ll be wandering the pharmaceutical section of City Market searching for the right remedy for my crippling joint pain.
(Note: I frequently encounter people who, by most metrics, qualify as old — one who shares my last name was here this past weekend — and who make me feel lazy with all their involvement in the community. I kid with the game show and arthritis references, I kid.)
Jokes aside, there is a sense of panic when dwelling on how fast it feels like we’re flipping through the calendar. It’s not quite the “quarter-life crisis” I wrote about back in January, but there is a little bit of that at play.
Am I going to be sitting here 10 years from now writing about the fact we’re almost through 2026?
I already know the answer to that question is “no.” Perhaps it has always been — I’ll defer to more seasoned professionals — but this industry increasingly feels like it’s suited for transients. Those who advance typically do so by moving and moving a lot. And I have certain aspirations.
For the time being, though, I don’t want to think about the scenery that far down the road, because it feels like the last 10 miles have been a sprint — a feeling I’ll attribute to work, traveling, more work and being constantly surrounded by people for nearly the past two months.
In the last 50 days, Sam and I have had about 10 without a house-guest or being house-guests ourselves (hear me out before writing me off as a complete recluse).
We had an intern — a great kid — stay with us for a little more than a month this summer.
In the nine days leading up to our trip to Cincinnati, seven were with Sam’s family members — truly great people — also staying at the house.
Then it was back home for six days — I love my family and friends, but you already knew that. Then back to Colorado where my father and brother showed up for a weekend visit last Friday, and Sam’s dad — an awesome guy and one of the funniest people I’ve ever met — arrived for a four-day visit this past Sunday.
As I attempted to say with some disgustingly poor punctuation (those dashes), we have some great people in our lives and my No. 1 regret is not having been able to spend more time with them while they were here or while we were there.
But some oxygen is needed. There’s a certain amount of pressure being around family. You either want to make sure they like you, that is if it’s your significant other’s family, or you feel the constant need to wring the most out of your limited time when it’s your family.
And even if it’s someone as friendly and low-key as the young man who crashed in our guest room for a month, you still don’t act 100 percent the same in your own home when you have a guest.
So, this Labor Day weekend I don’t foresee any big plans, such as that trip to Durango or camping adventure in Rifle Mountain Park, coming to fruition. Instead, I see plenty of sleep, a small amount of cleaning and some reading … or watching Netflix, whichever feels like less work.
Of course, I’ll probably be kicking myself for that decision when it’s threatening snow a month from now, but I’ll take it as it comes. It will be here soon enough.
Ryan Hoffman is busy watching “Murder She Wrote” reruns, but you can reach him at 970-685-2103 or at email@example.com.
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Rifle city judges have more options now when it comes to what to do with the pets of owners who are repeat offenders for animal-related offenses.