The Practical Free Spirit

I think about time.

Time is real. We measure it. We build highly accurate mechanisms to measure the seconds, minutes, hours, and days that make up the stream. We measure time in sand, in wind-up gears, in digital signals. We solve word problems combining time and distance and velocity.

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We track time. We measure our lives in years and birthdays. We cycle through seasons, through school years, through periodic trips to the doctor, the dentist, and then the rent check is due again at the first of the month.

Time is subjective. Time has a feeling. It slows to a crawl; it speeds so fast it’s invisible to the naked eye. It doesn’t do what we want it to do. Time weighs heavily upon us, or it is so light it’s hard to believe so much of it has already passed.

Time is deceptive. It’s so easy to live in the past or the future, and to forget about the now. Sometimes I sit and let it slip by, second by second. Sometimes I am silent, as if silence will halt its flow.

Sometimes I even cry, but time, it never listens to me. It keeps right on going, as fast or as slow as it’s going to go.

And then it’s tomorrow, and then it’s tomorrow.

And then it’s tomorrow.

And things have changed again.