“A wish may lead to false beliefs, granted. But what does the existence of the wish suggest? At one time I was much impressed by [the] line “Nor does the being hungry prove that we have bread.” But surely tho’ it doesn’t prove that one particular man will get food, it does prove that there is such a thing as food! I.e., if we were a species that didn’t normally eat, weren’t designed to eat, would we feel hungry? You say the materialist universe is “ugly.” I wonder how you discovered that! If you are really a product of a materialistic universe, how is it you don’t feel at home there? Do fish complain of the sea for being wet? Or if they did, would that fact itself not strongly suggest that they had not always, or would not always be, purely aquatic creatures? Notice how we are perpetually surprised at Time . . . In heaven’s name, why? Unless, indeed, there is something about us that is not temporal.” –C. S. Lewis
When you come to think of it, time itself is something that somewhat causes you to have multiple personalities.
Every few years (and then every few decades as you get older), you become a different person physically at least, if not psychologically, although legally you remain yourself.
With all the ways in which your thinking, feeling, willing, and relating have varied over different stages, which version of yourself is the real one? Which particular photo, for instance, best portrays the you that you want to be most remembered–your high school or college graduation photo, the shot of your wedding day, the picture of you carrying your first child or grandchild?
If there is not something or someone that is unchanging upon which all reality stands, we will all be strangers to ourselves, doomed with incoherence.
What do we celebrate when we greet each other Happy New Year? In the language of modern business at least, it is that in the project of Showing Up—of keeping on and staying alive—you and I have made it. Congratulations.
Time ambles on, and while some have “stepped out of life’s procession” (including, notably, some music icons), here we are. We celebrate the fact that though we are not celebrities, at least we’re in the show, if not to be onstage, at least to be spectators of whatever the running story is. “Even a live dog,” the author of Ecclesiastes says, “is better off than a dead lion,” which is to say show up, keep on keeping on, and you’ll be rewarded for it, though not to say that the departed are less meritorious. I love this picture and this enterprise of showing up because it seems to be one of the few places not yet tainted by the disease of You Don’t Matter If You Have Nothing to Show for It. “Blessed are those who show up and stay on” would probably make it into the Beatitudes. “For those who allow time’s constancy and change to shape them and reveal ultimate reality to them will be delivered from the Cult of Hecticness and Oppressive Comparison.” Just show up, whether in your Sunday best or in your tattered, time-worn worst.
Happy New Year is always a milestone. In rolls another year, and for some reason it evokes particular reflection that is not normally occasioned by the turn of another month, or a quarter, or even a decade.
I’ve been thinking about time as that—a mystery and a gift. Time as gift seems easy enough; as mystery, it’s quite hard to describe. We all have the same number of seconds per minute, the time-management consultants would tell us, whether we tell time by the clock, the number of journals we’ve filled, the heartbeats or paces registered in our smartwatches, the cups of coffee we’ve consumed, or even the number of jobs we’ve let go of or were let go from. Or opportunities lost. The funny thing about time is that unlike money, your favorite drink, or your data credit, you don’t save it by not using it.
Hecticness is understandable. After all, as Oliver Burkeman writes, “Given that the average lifespan consists of only about 4,000 weeks, a certain amount of anxiety about using them well is presumably inevitable: we’ve been granted the mental capacities to make infinitely ambitious plans, yet almost no time at all to put them into practice.” And let’s not for a moment presume that our problem is just quantity; it’s also quality. “Wherever we go, there seems to be only one business at hand—that of finding workable compromises between the sublimity of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us,” says Annie Dillard.
And that is exactly one of time’s mysteries. We dwell in it, and the we part is itself teeming with mystery enough to fill volumes.
It’s borrowed time (there goes the capitalism parallel again), the operative word being borrowed. From whom? And on what terms? You get different answers. Some say from chance, from the Force, from the universe, from evolution, from the future generation. From God.
Time changes us. Or at least reveals that we are not really as constant, consistent, or in control as we think we are. If you’re into modern philosophers, you might have come across one of those French ones who said that the principal question in life ought to be “Why not commit suicide?” In your teenage angst you may have agreed, and maybe even published your agreement with a poem, or a tattoo. Now, perhaps singing a lullaby to a six-month-old baby in your arms, you might say, what nonsense!
Time as mysterious. You get the idea.
I’ve come to realize that whenever I see time as a minor gift of the bigger gift of eternity, it’s easier to wean myself away from the idea that the main thing about time is how to manage it. For whoever bothers about managing a gift? As Frederick Buechner writes,
The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It’s for you I created the universe. I love you. There’s only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you’ll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.
Happy New Year. Keep showing up, and enjoy the gift.