On the Clock
Thoughts on the passage of time.
There’s a funny thing that happens to us in our short yet fleeting lives. I believe it’s a thing called change. Or is it growth? Whatever you’d like to refer to it as—change, growth, development, maturation, evolution, or decay—there is no doubt that this thing that happens to us, happens to all of us.
I’d like to think that when I become old (as in older than I currently am, much older in fact), I won’t stop learning — or growing. The passage of time can be a bit tricky. Some are built by it. Some are lost in its unforgiving race to the end.
As babies, the tricky little manmade concept of time wraps its fingers around our tiny little heads, and we begin to be shaped by the experiences which face us. We’re all born with our own paths and our own predetermined set of skills gifted to us by the Universe, or God, or The Great Creator, or whatever you would like to think of when you think of whatever being—man, woman, or otherwise—that had the gall to create such a creature as you and me.
With the gifts bestowed upon us, hidden inside the deepest nether reaches of our psyche, we race through time at warp speed. Some discover their gifts and use them, some discover them and set them to the wayside, and some never get the opportunity to discover them due to the trials and tribulations that follow them. Which brings me to the point I had here.
When I was younger, about 12 or 13, I had aspirations of becoming a writer. This was partially due to the fact that I loved reading and writing. I always envisioned myself as a grown-up—famous author, prolific career, having it quote unquote ‘made’.
Back then I was good, too. Winning a couple of awards, I was on my way to stardom. Or so I thought.
It all stopped when, well, I stopped. Suddenly and without warning the youthful glow of energy and hope got caught in the crosswinds of time and were blown out. From my 17th to 23rd year I didn’t so much as pick up a book to read. The passage of time brought new friends, new experiences, and left an ever-growing hole in the pit of my soul.
Why was that hole there and what did it want from me? I often questioned. I figured a job that my engineering degree got me would help. No dice. Something was missing. Life continued on like a roaring fire in a fireplace. I feared that soon, like the smoke from the chimney, I’d disappear.
Youth is wasted on the young. Each second moving just that much quicker than the last. The kid with dreams of becoming a writer had turned cold, and old—or so I thought. My past life at that point had been so far gone I hardly remembered it was ever a part of me at all. Until one coincidental day, and I don’t believe in coincidences.
I met a girl who didn’t hold back in expressing her love for reading and writing. Me, the jealous type and not wanting her to have all the glory, didn’t hesitate to express my love for the same things. In the blink of an eye all the years melted together in a sudden amalgamation of man and child who knew quite well where he came from and why he was put here.
The chance encounter helped me rediscover the shriveled up old me, someone I thought long dead. The passage of time provided me an opportunity to rediscover my passion; there was hope in the world yet. The years I thought wasted were necessary. What was once deemed a mistake was a learning experience.
Each passing moment, no matter how irrelevant, offers us a chance at growth.
My Sicilian grandfather immigrated to New York City as a young man and built a life as a pizzeria owner through blood, sweat, and hard work. He told me recently that if he had to do it all over again, he wouldn’t change a thing. That struck me. I’ve thought of that conversation almost every day since he said those fateful words, and it makes sense. He lived a full life and saw it all. Of course he wouldn’t change it. Meanwhile, I was complaining about every which way I had completely and utterly screwed myself over. There just wasn’t enough time left for me.
When we complain about life going by too fast, is that the universe’s fault or our own? If we stop to smell the roses, we may come to realize that time slows down in that particular moment.
That’s because life is actually as short or as fast as we make it. It seems to go quicker when we get into routines of neglecting ourselves. Putting unnecessary priorities over ones that could make us better or happier, all for the short-term gratification. That’s when months have gone by and you realize those guitar lessons you put off, or that baking class you didn’t bother joining, could have made a difference. But there just isn’t enough time to do them, you tell yourself.
There comes a time in our lives when we find out it isn’t too late. Whether you’re twenty, fifty, or eighty, you CAN make that difference. Take me for instance. I was able to go from couch potato to completing my first novel in a year. Although I haven’t had the guts to do anything except bury it in my Documents folder and immediately start a second one, it showed me I was capable of anything. I mean, here I am writing this and hopefully getting my point across to whoever reads it (that’s you).
I cursed my wasted years. Now I realize that without them I’d have nothing worth writing about. Who wants to read the driveling of a spoiled writer who’s been successful since birth anyway? In time you’ll see that the years you put behind you were actually stepping stones to help you become the person you’re supposed to become. Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither were you or me.
I’m thankful for my place in the universe now. You should be too. When you’re in a bad mood, when you think you were dealt a bad hand by fate, think of that as pillars for you to build upon. We all need foundations, after all.
And when you think that life is passing you by, just remember to stop and smell the roses. Because when you do, things seem a lot simpler, and the passage of time can come to a gentle halt.
Let’s start a dialogue. What’s your purpose? Have you ever mourned the ‘wasted’ years of your life?
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