As I watch my granddaughter play, it occurs to me how glorious it is that she has no sense of time. There is nothing in her head that says she has to be anywhere, eat, dress or do anything by a certain time.
I am thinking of this as another holiday weekend has flown by. I look forward to these three-day weekends, sometimes preparing a running list of all I want to do as activities come to mind the week before. Of course, it’s unrealistic, so I inevitably set myself up for failure. No matter what I do, I wonder if I should be spending my time another way.
I can’t seem to make peace with time. Yes, cliches abound. “Life is too short.” “Weekends always go too fast.” For me, it’s an ongoing irritant. When I’m watching a show, I think I should be reading. When I’m reading, I wonder if I should be writing. This morning, while in my virtual classroom for a class I am taking, I thought about how I’ve neglected my blog. Now, as I am writing this post, I know I should be studying. If I’m home for too long, I want to go out. I go out and wish I were home. I feel like I am never where I want to be or should be.
Maybe that is one reason I like having a full-time, standard work-week job. The priorities are quite clear, and if I mess up, someone will surely remind me. But even then, when multiple imperious items on my to-do list creep up to red-alert status, I get that uneasy feeling again that while I am laboring over one project, I should be focused on another. I believe everyone has days like that at work. It’s really when those feelings emerge during my leisure time, that it’s troublesome.
So, there you have it, time. I’m not happy with you, and I can sense you are not happy with me either. Maybe we can transform this enigmatic relationship into one that is healthy, easy and adaptable to change. I want to rediscover the bliss that children have before they learn how to read a clock; when they are still young enough to feel that time never ends. It’s just there to enjoy.
But for now, I’ve run out of time…