A persepctive on time
As I sat in watching the sun dawn this morning, watching as it unfolded before me, time seemed to stand still. The sun barely rising above the foothills, and the soft rays of sunlight brightening the sky. The light cast a tranquil glow upon the landscape. In this moment of quiet sanctuary, I felt surrounded by a sense of divine grace—a new day unfurls, unburdened by the weight of yesterday's trials, and unencumbered by the worries of tomorrow. Tranquility, the word, and the thought of it enveloped me, shielding me from the relentless rush of the impending day. Here, in this moment I remember thinking, there is promise in the stillness.
In this rarest of moments, I had clarity. I pondered the unhurried pace of the morning, marveling how it lingered. Each movement, each breath, seemed to unfold with deliberate slowness. Even the kids, in their morning routines, moved with a measured grace, their youthful energy tempered by the hushed calm of the early morning hours. When they bound through the door each afternoon, it’s with enthusiasm for the day’s events, frustration at some failure, or pride for an accomplishment. Now, in this moment they moved with deliberate quiet. As I observed the scene around me, I wondered—what if we could capture this sense of tranquility and weave it into the fabric of our days, or dare I say, even the tapestry of our years?
But already, the sun inched higher above the foothills, casting its brilliant light further upon the landscape. In my mind, the pace quickened, thoughts racing ahead. No longer a mere reflection on the passage of time, I found myself embarking on a journey through the halls of my memory, retracing the path of my life. As I navigate the various seasons, I was reminded of the wisdom passed down by elders who cautioned on the accelerated pace at which it moves each year. The loss of my father when he was 65 flashed before me and served as a poignant reminder of life's impermanence. With a mere two-decade gap between us, I was confronted with the stark reality of mortality—what if my own days are similarly numbered?
As with many of us, a thought that takes root can grow quickly, and I found myself convinced a twenty-year window was my own fate. My mind, ever restless, retraced the tumultuous journey of the previous two decades. Obviously, with only twenty years left, a review of the previous two decades was necessary! And what did that look like? A tumult of addiction, failed relationships, and the arduous path to sobriety unfolded before me. Then the years of sobriety which brought much to be thankful for; rekindling of family, and faith, giving back, building success. Nonetheless, the relentless pursuit of renewal and rebuilding has left little time for reflection. My head was now spinning in thought. It was all a blur. 20 years had passed in a flash, filled with joy and regret, happiness and sorrow, yet it had all passed so incredibly fast.
Not only had that peaceful reflection of the morning now speed to a fevered pitch of worry, but the exercise of memory had also done little to provide solace. In fact, if the next twenty years was anything like the past twenty years, it would be over before I knew it! Never mind this exercise was at best speculative and unwarranted, the panic had set in.
There wasn’t enough time!
Immediately, and sufficiently to calm my nerves, I was reminded of the irony of what my own mind can do and had just done.
I paused.
Time, that elusive enigma, slips through our fingers like grains of sand. Yet, in rare moments—such as this morning's dawn—it lingers, suspended in an amazing early glow of the day. It lingers until our own minds squander the serenity. If only we could capture these small moments, where time becomes palpable, almost tangible, as if we are wading through its depths rather than being swept away by its currents. How quickly we can allow our own minds to take hold, and unnecessarily accelerate the pace. Even as I revel in this short-lived reprieve, the specter of time looms overhead. Afterall, it is an unavoidable trait of the human condition. Dreams are yet unfulfilled, tasks left undone—there is a sense of urgency that will always permeate every moment.
I suppose amidst the competing thoughts, a moment of introspection has emerged and in this relentless pursuit of meaning, I offer these reflections:
In the passage of time, perhaps the truest wisdom lies in the acceptance of its transient nature. Maybe our embrace of each moment, however short-lived, will be the testimony of our life, and the richness of how we lived it. I wonder if the ability to see God’s grace and mercy, in both the chaos and the calm, would reveal the beauty of it all. Maybe, just maybe, the only way to struggle with the uncertainty of our own mortality - the endless battle with time - is to cherish each moment, no matter what form it holds. In doing so, we may find the truest treasures of life.
