I bet there’s a day you can’t wait to end. I bet there’s a concert you can’t wait for. I bet there’s a test you can’t wait to get over with. I bet your eye keeps darting to that little clock in the corner, wishing it would just go a bit faster.
Time is a wonky thing. Is it even real? Is time just a concept we created just to give us some feeling of stability, a feeling that we’re on a fixed course of sorts? Nonetheless, I’m not here to give you an existential crisis or a headache. That’s for a different conversation.
What do you do to pass the time?
Don’t answer that. Think about the question for a second.
I bet you get asked that a lot. And you probably nonchalantly answer with something like “Oh, I read/watch movies/go to the gym/sit on my ass all day” etc. etc. Again, I’m not here to judge the validity of your answer- there’s nothing wrong with a hobby. I’m here for the question.
Why do we pass the time?
Current reality is that we count our days down instead of living them- whether it be out of excitement, nervousness, or a sheer “I just want this goddamned thing to end” sense of despair. I’ve come to realize that half my life (slight exaggeration) has been spent anxiously glancing at clocks and calendars and I’ve come to realize that I’m wasting away. I’ve come to realize that I, and chances are you too, have always subconsciously constructed life into something divided into checkpoints we’re meant to warp to and from, with whatever comes in the middle doomed to be little more than a blur. And I risk repeating myself when I say that I’ve come to realize that the in-betweens we’d toss out the window at a moment’s notice are the greatest comprehensible waste in life; because they are life.
The concept of passing the time is, to put it mildly, poison. This is not to be confused with the things you do to pass the time, because it will never not be okay to do something you honestly enjoy. It’s the mindset that peeves me; that we think we’re meant to mindlessly occupy ourselves until the next big occasion, hell-bent on killing minutes we’ll never get back. We refuse, even whilst in genuine contentment, to stop looking at our watches, and start realizing how now can be every bit as good as then. You’d think the one truly irreplaceable commodity would command more appreciation than that.
Basically, what I’m trying to say is that while we get lost in the obsession to fast-forward through time, we lose so much of it, so much that had the potential to be beautiful if not for our insistence that it isn’t. I truly do believe that Father Time is a pretty easygoing guy, and if you beg him to shake the hourglass, he won’t stand in your way; he’ll oblige you and the sand will fall faster than ever. He’ll just neglect to tell you that he’s never turning that thing around, not even for a second. Character flaws, and all that.
It’d be awfully hypocritical of me to waste your time, so I’ll get to the point- my humble advice for you to let the clock, and yourself along with it, breathe. To let time take its course and enjoy every bit of it doing so. To stop mindlessly eating the seconds up in anticipation of the next time you’ll want them to freeze altogether.
Please, don’t insist on urging time on. Because believe me when I say that one day you’ll be on your knees begging for more- just ask the solemn old man staring at a hole in the ground.
You’re alive, you’re here, and it’s a miracle. Stop pissing it away.