Today I’ve been thinking about cycles. I’ll explain. This afternoon I did laundry. You know, put my dirty clothes in the washer, added soap and water, shut the lid, and waited while they went round and round. Then I put them in the dryer, shut the lid, and waited while they went round and round some more. And whereas all my clothes are now clean (except for the ones I’m wearing), next week they’ll be dirty again and I’ll have to start the whole process over once more.

Along these lines, last night for the first time in weeks I went to the gym. Thankfully, I hadn’t lost everything. Indeed, there were stretches and movements that were EASIER for me last night than the last time I went. (I attribute this to the progress I’ve made through upper cervical care.) Regardless, it still felt like starting over. Just like every time I get a sinus infection feels like starting over, and just like every blog I write feels like starting over. Because no matter how many words I’ve written in the last three years (a lot), each post begins with a blank page. My point being–no matter how many times you’ve been there before, every time is new.

This is what I mean by cycles. Our lives go round and round.

Along with thinking about cycles, I’ve also been thinking about circles. Perhaps these are the same thing. Either way, I’ve heard it said that although we think of our lives and time as progressing in straight lines, they aren’t. Rather, they’re circular, cyclical. This makes sense to me because so many things in the universe whirl. The earth rotates around its axis, the planets revolve around the sun, our washers and dryers spin. Likewise, so do our patterns and behaviors. This morning I woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, drank coffee, and read a book. And whereas I’ve never done these things on January 16, 2020, before, I have done these things over and over (and over) again on countless other days. The logical conclusion being that we don’t start here (at a point on a line) and end there (at another point further down the line). Instead, we move in circles.

Effectively, we repeat ourselves.

The book I read today was a glorious juvenile fiction novel, When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead. My friend Sydnie recommended it (thanks, Sydnie), and it’s about a boy named Marcus (oddly enough) who travels through time in order to save himself and others. At one point during the book, another character (the one who’s telling the story) is discussing time traveling with Marcus and says, “But THE MIDDLE can’t happen BEFORE THE BEGINNING.”

It can if time’s a circle, I thought. Circles don’t have beginnings, middles, or ends.

Well, sure enough, Marcus compares time to a diamond-encrusted ring, stating that we think TIME is moving but, in truth, WE ARE. Using the ring analogy, he suggests thinking of the fixed diamonds as the moments in our lives. Like, past, present, and future all exist AT ONCE. But since we can only experience or be aware of one moment, well, at a time, we perceive moments occurring separately, one before or after the other, and so on. Thus, as WE MOVE from point to point on the ring, we create in our minds (and only in our minds) the idea of time, the ideas of past and future.

How can you say that past and future are only ideas, Marcus (me Marcus, not book Marcus)?

Because search all you want, and you’ll never be able to find any proof of them. Sure, you can drag out your photo album and tell your stories, but when and where will those pictures and stories actually be happening?

Right here, right now.

I know this is a mind-bender.

Earlier I said that by going in cycles or circles we effectively repeat ourselves. Just now I looked up the origin of the word repeat, and it comes from two Latin words–re, meaning “back,” and petere, meaning “seek.” The idea that comes to my mind being “to go back” or “to seek again.” For me this is one of the nice things about life going round and round instead of in a straight line. It gives us a chance to start over (with a diet, with a workout routine, with a friend) as many times as we need to. Likewise, it gives us a chance to find ourselves, to circle back and save ourselves. Time machines aside, isn’t this what we’re doing when we re-evaluate our past, harmful judgments, when we forgive? Aren’t we rewriting history (and therefore its outcome and present-day effect) when we decide to love instead of hate another or any part of ourselves? Aren’t we starting over–anew?