Time

With pen in hand, I can barely hear the rhythmic echo of an upbeat drum and soft guitar tune serenading the cafe, over the blaring ridicule of this blank page staring back at me. My journal had spent the better part of the morning baiting me into exposing my inner monologue to it, and now that I’m finally here and prepared to spill my thoughts into the pages, no words seem to surface. Of course this would happen now, after finally mustering the motivation to get off my couch and walk here, in spite of what’s seemingly been one of the laziest days of my life. The irony isn’t wasted on me, in that as soon as I chose to stop wasting this day, I would feel suddenly incapable of making anything useful out of the time.

Of all the days to make nothing of, today is the ever so rare occurrence of Leap Day. That odd-ball extra day that comes around once every four years, just for shits and giggles. Admittedly smarter minds than I have deemed it a necessary addition to our calendars, but really who cares, it’s all made up anyway. And while normally I wouldn’t be bothered to notice, on this particular revolution around the Sun I find that I can’t help but reflect on the uniqueness of this date. 

More accurately I suppose, if I’m being honest, I saw a post on Instagram that the algorithm force-fed into my view, which rattled off some pretend-insight-bs of how important it is to reflect on the essence of time itself today. And despite how much I despise being influenced by social media, I have no choice but to admit sour defeat in this case, as here I am, thinking about time. 

First of all, what a silly thing to ponder. Time passes by without any regard to whether or not we even notice, so why should one pay any mind to it at all? It also has proven, “time after time” (ha), that it can’t be stopped, altered or influenced by any external force. Always forward marching, it remains an unstoppable constant beyond reason or rhyme. It is for all intents and purposes, out of our control, yet we spend so much time worrying about time, all of the time. Perhaps out of ignorance, but most likely by our own hubris, we even behave as though we possess it in unlimited supply. Furthermore we even, and often, go so far as to waste it doing nothing more than recalling time that has already come and gone. Whether for some brief elation at reliving an occurrence, or basking in memory, we spend minutes and hours and days living in the past – all at the expense of opportunity cost for living in the present. 

Although, perhaps I am being a bit harsh, to judge spending time in recollection of past time as a waste. There is no denying the possibility for deep joy, fleeting or not, in remembering good times. Arguably there is maturity in understanding time passed, and wisdom in the ability to use such understanding to influence choices of how we use our present time for the better. Growth also occurs from being a version of oneself at one time, and becoming a different version at another time, derived from the accumulation of experience that can only be gained over time. Now one can only hope that growth would (should) inevitably be a good thing, but the complex debate of good and bad is a consideration for, you guessed it, another time. 

All is to say, time is weird. 

Damnit. In the time it took me to write this, my coffee got cold.