As we entered Daylight Savings Time this past week and gave up an hour of our lives to Spring forward, I was reminded that I have a strange – or more specifically, strained – relationship with time. I have often felt an unending urge to beat time, somehow, someway. There has always been this ticking clock in the back of my mind, pushing me forward with an incessant urgency to get certain things done, as if I am acutely aware that life is terribly fleeting, that our life force is an elusive, unmanageable thing. It’s not like we can ever truly master or control time. We cannot reverse time to put hours, days, weeks, years back on the clock. The day we’re born is the day we start dying. We don’t get do-overs, we can’t time-travel (yet!) and we do not have the power of pause. Temporal stasis is a science-fiction theory at best (for now). This is why Father Time is a cagey mad bastard who remains undefeated.
Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock!
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