time changes things

Time is a weird paradox. It’s the most complex thing we know, yet it’s deceptively simple. Time was taught to me as math: seconds, hours, days. but as an adult, I’ve realized time is more like a single particle of dust. No one can see a speck of dust land on a shelf, and because the change is too microscopic to see, we get to live in a comfortable illusion of “sameness.”

But eventually, dust accumulates.

I saw the “dust” recently visiting my grandfather’s home in Alexandria, Virginia. I used to live there, and for most of my life, that house has been a fixed point in my universe. I could always count on being greeted by the same things: the same specific creak the gate makes when you push it open, and the same scent that fills the home and reminds me of a well-stocked pantry of all my favorite snacks. But this visit I will never forget because it was the visit that broke the illusion.

I looked out the front window and realized the faces on the block were different than what I saw growing up. Gentrification has took over, and there were more white faces than Black ones now. I noticed my grandfather (a man who never asked for assistance) needing an extra hand and a slower pace to navigate the stairs. Even the house felt quieter. The TV wasn’t as loud anymore. I was no longer just a girl visiting her grandfather for the holidays, I was a human being witnessing the heavy result of years passing all at once. I realized then that I was standing on the other side of a massive chunk of dust.

Noticing dust can feel heavy and it’s the reason the holidays can be so challenging to navigate for some.

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The weight of the dust didn’t sink in until the night I landed in LA. I was out at dinner with my boyfriend telling him about my trip, when out of nowhere, I just started to cry. It was a deep, confusing panic I’d never felt before. After doing some research, I realized that specific ache has a name: Chronophobia, the extreme fear of the passage of time.

Chronophobia explains why we feel a sense of ache when we are forced to look at how much has changed. We spend all year not noticing the particles of dust and going through the rituals of life only to be catapulted into a season designed entirely around markers of time. We pull out the same ornaments and sit at the same tables, using these rituals to try and freeze the world. But rituals are a double-edged sword. It doesn’t actually stop time; it just provides a high-contrast background for the “dust” that has settled since last year. Against the backdrop of the “same” traditions, the changes scream at you. You notice the empty chair more. The gray in your mother’s hair becomes more apparent.

To end with a powerful message for everyone feeling that weight, you want to offer them grace and agency. You want to let them know that noticing the dust isn’t a failure—it’s a testament to how much they care.

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to the one who sees the dust

Naming a feeling takes away its ability to paralyze you. Calling it Chronophobia reframes it from depression or anxiety into an awareness of time itself and a moment of perspective rather than something being wrong with you. You aren’t drowning in the Holiday Blues. You’re just finally seeing the depth of the water. The heaviness is actually proof of how much you’ve loved and how deeply you’ve lived. You only notice the dust because you were there to see it land.

So, if the holidays feel like a tidal wave this year, don’t feel ashamed of the tears at dinner. Name the wave. Acknowledge the new faces in the neighborhood, the quietness of the house, and the new silver in your mother’s hair.

The world is going to keep changing, but that’s what makes the “now” so beautiful. Let the wave crash, feel the salt, and then go make something that honors the time you’ve been given.

Happy holidays <3