When I was a boy, I wanted to be a man, wanted time to hurry up, give me the freedom I so richly deserve. I would watch the older lads, with their girlfriends and their late nights, and their liberty of choice. Then when I was in my twenties, I was running ahead of time, fancy free, strong, each moment felt like I had walking on the moon. I saw everything, felt everything, tasted everything. Then I was in my thirties, and the win was in my face, and time the great predator gathers itself and the race intensified, I heard time’s footsteps at my heel. In my forties, time caught up with me, looked over and smiled, and I heard a whisper, “It takes endurance.” They say time waits on no one, but I see it, at the finish line, waiting for me, as I will my moments to slow down, trying to taste everything, to feel everything, to see everything, trying to keep time’s impatience at bay.