Time. Timeless. Out of time. All the time in the world. Just a matter of time. Take your time. All out of time. Time is meaningless. Nothing but time. If I could put time in a bottle.
The five minutes a puppy cries is somehow a much longer five minutes than the first five minutes of a spring hike in the woods. An hour in a pointless meeting feels like forever, but the last hour of the finale of your favorite tv show passes in the blink of an eye (minus the commercials). The ten minutes I gave myself to write feels like forever. Seriously - only four minutes have passed? And I had to check.
When you are little, time seems to go on forever. Christmas felt like it would never come. Adults start the countdown in October (September?) with dread in their heards. A day measured by the passing of the tides is so different from one measured by a stock ticker. Is how we measure time part of how we measure ourselves?
How many emails can I send in an hour vs. celebrating a sunset as it marks the end of another day. The found minutes are often the longest, savored in a way different than the scheduled ones. Those special minutes don't seem to exist without the scheduled ones, though. Nothing but time is often said as a regret. Filling those minutes in ways we feel represent us in some way is perhaps what makes us human. A successful phone call lasting less than three minutes is probably more satisfying than an afternoon spent on the couch. An hour cleaning out the kitchen cabinets trumps the weeks (years?) spent procrastinating.
Because time is precious.
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