Marking Time

Let's face it. From the day we are born, we are marking time. First, in the calendar way, by checking off the milestones brought to us by the passing of days. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. I absolutely love the calendar and its dependable way of rotating around to bring me again and again to those familiar dates and events. There is the life plan way of marking time, laying out all the stages of life we expect to experience — education, career, family life— and a myriad of touchstones along the way.

Then there is marking time in the marching band/military way. Standing in place, feet moving in regimented step, knees up, eyes ahead. "Mark Time, MARCH!" And you stay there until further orders tell you to halt, or move forward. I was great at marching in a group, whether it was with the Rifle-ettes (doing a mean Queen Anne's salute with our wooden mock rifles) or with my high school band, forming letters and shapes on the football field (all the while playing clarinet.)

As a parent, I have marked time with the developmental milestones of my children, their stages of life and now, repeating that with grandchildren. I've become good at it, except, perhaps in my working life. Many times I have found myself out of step, doing an About Face, or watching the squad move on without me. Career-wise, the concept of marking time by soldiering on in place didn't boost me up many rungs of the ladder; perhaps, as the saying goes; when it came to career, I really just wanted to march to the beat of my own drummer.

I am trying to find out how to do that and still pay the rent, especially now, as I stare down another milestone; one that is moving at me steadily as the calendar days pass by. Its approach is signaling a time of assessing where all this marching has led me, both personally and professionally.

The band is playing, the sergeant is shouting, and the parade ground is waiting.