July 10: Time, Time Race, Now, And Now

Arthur is still coming to terms with the knowledge that he and the rest of the human race have been the subjects of a millennia-long experiment conducted by white mice . . .

Arthur thought about this for a second, and then his face cleared.

"Ah no," he said, "I see the source of the misunderstanding now.  No, look, you see what happened was that we used to do experiments on them.  They were often used in behavioral research.  Pavlov and all that sort of stuff.  So what happened was that the mice would be set all sorts of tests, learning to ring bells, run round mazes and things so that the whole nature of the learning process could be examined.  From our observations of their behavior we were able to learn all sorts of things about our own . . ."

Arthur's voice trailed off.

"Such subtlety . . ." said Slartibartfast, "one has to admire it."

"What?" said Arthur.

"How better to disguise their real natures, and how better to guide your thinking.  Suddenly running down a maze the wrong way, eating the wrong bit of cheese, unexpectedly dropping dead of myxomatosis.  If it's finely calculated the cumulative effect is enormous."

He paused for effect.  

"You see, Earthman, they really are particularly clever hyperintelligent pandimensional beings.  Your planet and people have formed the matrix of an organic computer running a ten-million-year research program . . .Let me tell you the whole story.  It'll take a little time."

"Time," said Arthur weakly, "is not currently one of my problems."

Time is always one of my problems.

For instance, I work for a healthcare organization that is very driven by time.  Managers and supervisors are forced to watch over their employees' punches on the clock like the apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey watching over their watering hole.  As if their very lives depend upon it.  Employees tally minutes, view time accruals, know how much PTO (paid time off) they have down to the second.  It's not a healthy way to exist.  (If you don't have enough PTO in this health system, you can't take sick days.  Sick days mean that you can't pay your bills.)

The non-work portion of my day is a time race, as well.

Another for instance:  this evening, I have allowed myself about an hour-and-a-half to write this blog post.  Then, I have to make a phone call to the producer of the radio show of which I'm a part.  That will take another half hour or so.  Finally, I have allotted the final two hours of my night to planning the poetry workshop that I'm conducting tomorrow evening.  I am running a race to bedtime.

I do experience moments in my life where time becomes transparent or irrelevant.  When I'm in a classroom, and my lesson is going particularly well, I lose track of time.  When I'm reading a really good book, time is not in the room with me.  When I'm doing a poetry reading or writing in my journal or watching my son sleep, the clock disappears.  Tomorrow night, as I gather with writer friends for my workshop, I will not pay a whole lot of attention to how low in the sky the sun is.  And when my wife and I are spending time together, whether it's going for a walk or reading in the same room (books, not Facebook posts or phone texts), time is simply not part of the equation.

I would love to have a life not ruled by time.  Unfortunately, in this Social Media Age in which we live, time is always a factor in everything we do.  People won't believe you've finished reading War and Peace unless you post of picture of yourself holding the book in one hand, giving a "thumbs up" with the other, smiling like an idiot with a caption that reads "Take that, Tolstoy!"  Of course, the picture will be time-stamped and appear in your Facebook timeline forever.

Life is really too short (again, the time thing!) to be constantly worrying about the past or the future.  You can't do anything to change what has happened, and it does no good to fret about what might happen.  What you have is now.  Now.  And now.  Like an infinite number of maple leafs growing on a branch.  Each second is a chance to do something extraordinary.  Be the greenest leaf.  Biggest leaf.  Darkest leaf.  At the moment, I'm typing the last few lines of tonight's post.  I'm not thinking beyond the next word or punctuation mark.  When I place the last "." at the end of the last sentence, I will move on to the now that comes after that ".", and I have no idea what it will be.

Saint Marty is ready for his next big adventure.  Maybe a nap.  Naps are pretty timeless, too.