On the most precious commodity-
“Try to imagine a life without timekeeping. You probably can’t. You know the month, the year, the day of the week. There is a clock on your wall or the dashboard of your car. You have a schedule, a calendar, a time for dinner or a movie. Yet all around you, timekeeping is ignored. Birds are not late. A dog does not check its watch. Deer do not fret over passing birthdays. Man alone measures time. Man alone chimes the hour. And, because of this, man alone suffers a paralyzing fear that no other creature endures. A fear of time running out.”
For weeks now there's been a grey cloud of anxiety hovering over me. A mixture of: What am I doing? Do I actually enjoy whatever it is I'm doing? And, why am I not better at what I'm doing? As in EVERYTHING. Why can't I be better? [insert self-deprecating emoji here]
The thing is: I feel so incredibly rushed.
Recently I met a Canadian who told me he left home with a time frame and a check list.
1)pay off debt
2) save money
3)get married
4)return home by 30, married, debt free and with money. He turns 30 this month. He moves home in six with his Russian wife, debt free. I sat across him (jaw literally dropped), contemplating my imaginary list. A time frame? Who am I kidding? I've never been good at those...
My current reading has me pondering notions of time and naturally, the existential. Unsurprisingly as it would happen, I sought literature to distract me from this reoccurring feeling of running out of time. So I purchased a conceptual book on Time in the Bali airport, as my time on the beautiful Island had run out. O the poetry of life...
Just last week I ran home from work to eat quickly before catching the subway to the gym; I was in such a rush I cut my thumb pretty badly. My finger wasn't a bother so much as the pressure of time counting down as I had five minutes to finish cutting an avocado, shove it into my mouth, tie my shoes and run downstairs. Out of breath and nearly choking I knew then I couldn't keep this up. Slow down, whispered that little voice. I ignored it, stubbed my toe and so its whisper turned into a more audible, SLOW DOWN.
But--but--but-- I feel so rushed. I am so rushed. I am rushing...
“As mankind grew obsessed with its hours, the sorrow of lost time became a permanent hole in the human heart. People fretted over missed chances, over inefficient days; they worried constantly about how long they would live, because counting life’s moments had led, inevitably, to counting them down. Soon, in every nation and in every language, time became the most precious commodity.”
I am rushing... myself.
“Everything man does today to be efficient, to fill the hour? It does not satisfy. It only makes him hungry to do more. Man wants to own his existence. But no one owns time. When you are measuring life, you are not living it.”
For weeks now there's been a grey cloud of anxiety hovering over me. A mixture of: What am I doing? Do I actually enjoy whatever it is I'm doing? And, why am I not better at what I'm doing? As in EVERYTHING. Why can't I be better? [insert self-deprecating emoji here]
The thing is: I feel so incredibly rushed.
Recently I met a Canadian who told me he left home with a time frame and a check list.
1)pay off debt
2) save money
3)get married
4)return home by 30, married, debt free and with money. He turns 30 this month. He moves home in six with his Russian wife, debt free. I sat across him (jaw literally dropped), contemplating my imaginary list. A time frame? Who am I kidding? I've never been good at those...
My current reading has me pondering notions of time and naturally, the existential. Unsurprisingly as it would happen, I sought literature to distract me from this reoccurring feeling of running out of time. So I purchased a conceptual book on Time in the Bali airport, as my time on the beautiful Island had run out. O the poetry of life...
Just last week I ran home from work to eat quickly before catching the subway to the gym; I was in such a rush I cut my thumb pretty badly. My finger wasn't a bother so much as the pressure of time counting down as I had five minutes to finish cutting an avocado, shove it into my mouth, tie my shoes and run downstairs. Out of breath and nearly choking I knew then I couldn't keep this up. Slow down, whispered that little voice. I ignored it, stubbed my toe and so its whisper turned into a more audible, SLOW DOWN.
But--but--but-- I feel so rushed. I am so rushed. I am rushing...
“As mankind grew obsessed with its hours, the sorrow of lost time became a permanent hole in the human heart. People fretted over missed chances, over inefficient days; they worried constantly about how long they would live, because counting life’s moments had led, inevitably, to counting them down. Soon, in every nation and in every language, time became the most precious commodity.”
I am rushing... myself.
“Everything man does today to be efficient, to fill the hour? It does not satisfy. It only makes him hungry to do more. Man wants to own his existence. But no one owns time. When you are measuring life, you are not living it.”
"When you are measuring life, you are not living it." Slow down, anxious heart. What exactly has you so anxious anyway? Don't rush into your tomorrows. Perhaps it's more about sussing out the space suitable for expansion, for the continuous re-birthing of self. Everything comes in its right time, but remember dear you, you are not captive. You are no slave to time.
And don't you forget that, you.
*Excerpts from The Time Keeper,
Mitch Albom
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thank you for your words...xoxo