I will never forget the day, cozy in a Colorado dorm room, when I read Be Here Now and was astounded by Ram Dass' statement that we can not "save time." "Time can only be spent." How one spends their time, that was essential. Fuck, yeah, I thought. This concept excused me from buying any handy-dandy-time-saving-can't live without it-jane just got one-gadget. Then comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Michelle with a baby carriage. And a mortgage. And a car payment. And a job to pay for it all. OK, so adulthood seems short on time and tall on responsibilities. Solution? I bought a microwave.
Still, I couldn't cope with my lack of time and others disliked my acceptance of "fluid" time (the standard that fifteen minutes constitutes tardiness---and really, this code only became problematic when I had to attend one hour meetings in "adult world"). Yesterday I argued with a meter maid that she couldn't possibly give me a ticket; I was ONE minute late. "Late's late", she said. And it's true. Especially when it comes to periods, weddings, plays, and yoga classes. Sometimes, being late means missing out.
I wonder if one's acceptance that our time on this planet is finite (we'll enjoy it for ninety years or so) renders a person more punctual. Are people just trying to suck every minute out of life? And how does this "minute" compare to Thoreau's "marrow"? Time sucks indeed.
I've had two lessings regarding time this week: the first, I am unemployed. I went from working full-time (and then some) and raising two, small children, to not working out side of the home at all. I'm shocked to learn that I do not get as much "done" around the house as I did when I was working. I also have not "made/found the time" to exercise or rearrange the closet or write letters, or volunteer with the elderly. My productivity was higher when my life was ultra-compartmentalized. Every moment was filled, but not full. There was no breath. Now my days are more like a green, rolling pasture not a skyscraper reaching for the clouds (dare I say to nowhere?). OK, that sounds dramatic, but I believe that our inward glance mirrors the outer world. And let me tell you, if your day is constructed like a skyscraper, well you are sure as shit going to build some in your world. We need a place to do all that compartmentalizing. I'll call it "architectural soul ecology." Oh, that would be bullshit if I didn't like it so much.
The second lessing: playing hide and seek with my kids. Our version is called "Roar." We hide and whomever is "it" is some type of amorphous "roaring" monster or presence. I never want to play but I do and when I do I get lost in the game and it is thrilling. After all, there is that counting and then the hunt. Ready or not that thing is coming to get you. Ready or not. There is no finality in children's games. You get caught, you get a prison break. You die, you start a new game. All of that practice should prepare us for an adventurous life but it doesn't. Here's the trick: how can your day look like my rolling field and have a little thrill of the hunt? How can we refrain from mindlessly building skyscrapers in our souls? Because, sooner or later, time's up.
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