Moments, Not Minutes.

I am almost at the age my aunt was when she passed away.

I had just turned fourteen in April and we lost her in July.

Now I'm in my early thirties.

I look back on those days and it seems like yesterday—when in reality, I could never reach those days again. They are far out of my reach despite feeling them so closely.

It’s funny that we don’t worry about time because we always think we have so much of it. But when we look back, we see how far we’ve come: the memories we made along the way, the hands we held, and the people who once walked beside us.

Now, they are only ghosts that stay with us with every step.

The hands of the clock continue moving slowly.

The sun continues to rise and set.

And we keep going forward.

But looking back on our past is like trying to restart the clock. We hope to change things. We hope to do things differently. But no matter how long we stay in the past, there’s not a single thing we can do.

Time just is.

We have to deal with it.

We can’t slow it down.

But what we can do is make the most of it.

Embrace every second.

Do what makes us happy, no matter what others think.

Money can be made.

Time can’t be bought.

Your nine-to-five doesn’t matter at the end of the day.

It’s the hours you spend doing what you love with who you love that matter most.

So don’t look at your phone or the clock on the wall.

Look at the faces of those you love.

Don’t count down the hours.

Count the people you surround yourself with.

Count the pictures you take.

Count down the timer as you record videos.

Count the stars in the night sky.

Count the clouds that slowly dance across the blue sky.

Count the snowflakes that fall into your hand.

Count the number of drops you hear when it rains.

Count all the small things in life, because they all add up to something bigger than us.

Count everything but the time.

At the end of the day, it’s not the ticking of the clock that counts.

It’s the memories we make.

The love we give.

And the pieces of us we leave in this world.

So as I think of all the years I’ve spent laughing, loving, and making memories, I think of my aunt and the short time she had in this world.

Although it wasn’t long enough for those who loved her, it was long enough for her memory to live forever—through the memories, the love, and the pieces of her she left behind.