There are notes about time in a journal from last year:
‘Time is the progression of events from past to present into the future.’ (In other words, it’s one thing after the other. It’s the stuff that happens.)
‘Time can be considered the fourth dimension of reality used to describe events in three-dimensional space.’ (Height. Width. Depth. Time.)
‘We can’t see, taste, touch or smell time, but we can measure its passage.’
These notes are mind-bendy but not enlightening.
There are more notes:
‘Time slows down during emergencies or danger. The amygdala becomes more active. This is the part that makes memories. As memories form, time seems to draw out.’ (Which explains slow-mo shots of things flying in graceful arcs around the heads of upside-down passengers in the interiors of cars heading over cliffs.)
‘The brain forms more memories of new experiences than of familiar ones.’
‘Since fewer new memories are built later in life, time seems to pass more quickly.’
The notes conclude, in capital letters: SO: DO NEW THINGS
Which is good and well, but …
… what about the more prosaic problem of time … the one where you have to fit in all the things – all of them – and the stuff that you most want to have time for – the people, the walking, the dreaming, the making, the books, the planting, the movies?
Maybe you just keep making lists and disappointing people and irritating others and saying sorry all the time.
And weeding out what’s not immediately necessary. Or waking extra early for a while. Or working weekends. And hoping it gets better soon.
Or maybe you just say to yourself: this is what life is like even after you have brought all your organisational skills to bear.
Maybe you comfort yourself that everything is of your own choosing (if it is) and that, if the way you spend your days is how you spend your life, as Annie Dillard so memorably said, you’re happy with the life you’re making.
Speaking of lists
There are so many books with the word ‘list’ in the title and almost all of them have to do with productivity. Don’t buy any of them. Instead, see if you can find this book, because it’s the best list book ever: The Infinity of Lists, by Umberto Eco.
With love,
K.
ever since reaching age 25 (i'm now only 25 and 15 months old), it feels as if i say the words "there isn't enough time" to myself on an almost-daily basis. and i think it is that there's this urgency (probably a white supremacist capitalism thing) hovering just above our consciousness that squeezes time into something we have to barter, trade, and sell. we do not get to exist in time, we have to "make the most of it". we are discouraged from getting lost in time, and instead, are encouraged to see death as an ever-approaching reason to "budget" your time wisely. all of this, as i suspected earlier in my comment, is just another way of us loosing ownership over something sacred that should have been ours; wholely ours. like our bodies, our methods of expression, our relationships, and even our identities. instead, white supremacist capitalism (which is also patriarchy, just btw) OWN our bodies, our meaning-making systems, our connections, our senses of self, AND (most prominently) white supremacist capitalism owns our time.
so, yeah. this is a hard relate that sits uncomfortably jagged in my soft belly.