There’s a scene in Grumpy Old Men where John and Ariel make snow angels. I was watching it a few days ago and started wondering, when was the last time I made a snow angel?

I often find myself thinking about those moments we don’t realize are the last. The last time I rode scooters with my cousins in their basement, or played cards with my family at our cabin on Lake Superior. The last time I went dancing on a Tuesday with my best friend in college, or sat in a lecture hall before the pandemic suddenly moved everything online. The last time I went to the arcade in Brighton with my dad, or got dirt pizza from Hungry Howie’s. The last time I spoke to a childhood friend before losing touch. The last time I played Polly Pockets with my sister. The last time I talked to my grandpa.

That’s been the hardest part of getting older. But it’s also taught me to appreciate moments more, to notice the details and focus on the little things I want to remember. Like when my niece calls me “Auntie JoJo.” Someday, I might just be Aunt Josie. Or when I walked through my apartment in Augusta one last time, slowly moving through each room, replaying the memories they held while my mom waited outside with the U-Haul.

The thing is, as I get older, time seems to move faster. So I’m learning to slow down a little. I’ve always been a fan of the hustle, but now I’m trying to find a balance. To give hugs instead of Irish goodbyes, and to pull over and park to take in a view instead of watching it pass by through the window.

I’ve spent a lot of time chasing the next big adventure. Now, I just want to hold on a little tighter to what’s right in front of me.

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