Time is an annoying bastard. Regardless of how you think, he’ll run or he’ll drag his feet on the ground depending on his mood. The clock keeps moving when I feel like I’ve been glued to the ground, helpless to watch everything around me continue to spin and move while I stay the same. Here I am, two decades old, and I still have not a clue what I am. I’m not in the teens anymore, so I must be an adult, right?
Okay, there are many who would disagree with the above statement. There are too many water skiing grandmas. Too many young and old people in bodies unsuited to their age. Age is nothing in the face of the heart.
So then what is time to us anyway? My guess is it depends on the speed of time.
That might seem confusing, but think of the last time you lost someone. Did you feel like time stopped? If we lose someone important, we might grow angry that the rest of the world as it still goes on even with them gone. The baker will continue to bake his bread whether or not your deceased person is there or not. We will continue to breathe air, our feet will continue to carry us, until our own lives come to an end. It’s a frightening thought, really. Within the time of grieving, we’re forced to grow up and carry the slime time threw at us. You’re forced to shed your tears and keep moving, unless one will be left behind.
Then there’s the opposite, when time flies. During this point, Time means nothing because within your own world, time flows at its own pace. Your head is in a daze, and you lose track of what the rational world tells you. The time is so fun, so captivating, that it brings a lightness into your heart and you become a child again. Just for a bit. In that bit of time, you can just forget everything else and just fly.
There are other types of time too, bored time, indifferent time, etc. etc. All of it’s important. Even wasted time was for something. It just determines how much of a procrastinator you are. Time is dependent on the situation, and changes its speed because of it.
I apologize for rambling, but it is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. Its fickle nature makes me curious. I want to flesh out time. To know what it means to me. To know what I will become because of it.
It’s hard to think I’ve lived a fourth of my life (well, if I’m lucky enough to hit the age of 80). It’s hard to think I’m not what society calls a child anymore, even when I still feel like one.
That’s why I’ve determined Time is a bastard. He doesn’t listen to me at all and just keeps going. Call me control freak, but sometimes I wish I could choose the kind of time I was having. If I could choose the type of time in any given moment, then I could probably make class so fun that I’d absorb every single part of it. Or I’d make time slow when I need to think of something to say in order to not make a fool of myself. But time tends to the opposite of what I wish. It does its own thing, continually humbling those who wish they could control it.
Enough of my ranting though. I’m kind of curious what people think of time. Feel free to post in the comments section about your own experience with time. J