The idea of time consumes my thoughts.
I recently started working out at Orange Theory Fitness. It’s a gym that specializes in interval training. Each class has a treadmill, row, and free weights section. It fascinates me how 30 seconds on the treadmill at a sprint can seem like an eternity.
Yet before class, I look at the time, and I’ve got 15 minutes until I need to be in the car.
I get my sneakers.
I put them on.
I tie them.
And, suddenly 20 minutes have gone by, and I am five minutes late.
Aaaaaahhhhhhh!
How does that happen?
The last race I ran in (before the car wreck) was a half marathon. During the run, it didn’t seem like an exceptionally long time spent running. After the run, I don’t recall thinking, “Dear God, I thought that would never end.” Yet, put me on the treadmill and tell me to run one mile at an uncomfortable push pace, and I am negotiating with God to spare my life.
When my grandparents were towards the end of their life, I would visit them, and a befuddlement would follow. They would ask me what I wanted out of their home, and I would reply, “Nothing.”
“But, we want to give you something of ours. There must be something you want?”
“All I want is to spend time with you. I just want time.”
My grandfather would become exasperated, and short of banging his head against the wall, he would say, “This rocking chair? Would you like this rocking chair?”
I would answer, “No. I do not want to take anything from you. I just want to spend time with you.”
The last visit to their home, before they began to die (my grandfather in a hospital, my grandmother in a nursing home), my grandparents got up from their den and went to the dining room and started wrapping up their china.
It was a full set of china for 12, so it took some time for them to wrap.
I looked on with great confusion.
“But…”
They cut me off. “You will have this china. We know you love china.” My grandfather would say holding his hand up to stop my words.
After they had died, years past before my oldest brother and I had the emotionally arduous task of completely emptying their house to put it up for sale.
It was tough on both of us.
We would pick up an item, and start talking about the time we remembered associated with that item.
I’m certain the emotions associated with those items were not all positive. That would not be real life.
Yet, all the memories we recalled were good.
Can time always be good to someone?
To help me get a grip on time, last spring I planted Thyme by my mailbox. Thyme began to thrive at my mailbox. Throughout the spring, summer, and early fall I had an overabundance of Thyme. Then, the winter weather killed off all my Thyme.
Am I any closer to understanding time?
Nope.
I have always been that person who will say, “I will be back in 8 minutes.” Or whatever the exact time I will be back will be instead of rounding the time off.
Often, that comment is met with, “Why did you say 8 minutes? Why didn’t you say 10 or 15 minutes?” And, often I walk away looking at the person with confusion.
Then, 8 minutes later I return to find the person nearly hostile, “it’s been 8 minutes. How did you know you would be back in 8 minutes?” To which I often answer, “Because I told you I would be back in 8 minutes?”
At night, I can lay down in bed and tell myself that I will wake up at 5:15 am. Guess what? I wake up at 5:15 am without an alarm.
Does this help me not be late for Orange Theory Fitness class?
Nope.
Does this help those 30 seconds or 10 minutes on the treadmill go by blissfully?
Heck no!
I spent the majority of last month, or so it seemed, spending time with a pregnant giraffe named April. There was a live feed of her on YouTube, and the world watched and waited.
Why?
Why did we spend so much of our time waiting for that moment when a new life would be brought into this world?
Every time she stretched, I would hold my breath. Each time she peed, I would yell, “Her water just broke, people. It’s going to be any time now.”
And week after week, April would continue on with her large belly. I would find myself saying to the computer screen, “Dear God, is she ever going to have this baby?”
I missed the birth, of course.
My daughter and her roommate sent me an all caps text telling me of the occurrence right as the plane I was on took off. By the time I got a signal, the baby giraffe had been born.
Once again, my attachment to time was like a cork trying to stand up straight in rough waters.
There are so many aspects of time that I don’t yet understand. While I am consumed with thoughts of time, I run out of time to do… Damn! Gotta go drive carpool…