Time is a concept

If you are a John Lennon fan, you know I’m borrowing loosely here for the title.

I’ve always been a tad mystified at just how much stock people place in time. It is, after all, a manmade concept which, at its very core, serves to usher us go the grave faster than we would get there if we just lightened up a little. It seems to rule every molecule of our being, keeping us in an existential stranglehold, and playing with us like silly putty.

From whence, my good readers you ask, does the previous graph (journalese for paragraph) come? Well, yesterday I had an interesting, perplexing, and somewhat humorous scuff with the Time Monster.

A good friend of mine, who rarely takes time off for good behavior or anything else, has been spending the week with family here in the hinterland. I agreed to answer her phone at her place of business while, at the same time, pounding out stories on my laptop. It’s a busy season for both of us, and fortunately I have time and ability to multitask and TCB.

Nothing unusual here…that is until yesterday. As the clock figuratively struck the close of business, it was time for me to forward her office phone to her home phone. So I glance up at the clock on the wall, hit the speaker button on the phone, and initiated the process in what I thought was a timely manner.

If you are an expert at forwarding phones, you know that someone or something (aka, an answering machine or voice message) must respond at the other end to successfully execute the maneuver. My friend answers, and what I hear next just blows me away.

“My clock at home says you’re five minutes early.”

Huh?

OK, in the temporal scheme of things maybe this just isn’t a biggie. I even tell her I’ll hang up and call back again in 5. I am offering the only concession I have in my back pocket.

But what just amazed me is that I am somehow supposed to mentally teleport myself to her house, at least a few miles away from my current location, check her Big Ben at home and not the one a few feet away from me, account for the time differential between Point A and Point B, and then return from my astral travels to the chair which currently houses my butt.

As a journalist, I have more than a passing acquaintance with time. We freelancers work against constant and brutal deadlines which involve both day, time o’the-day, and – if you’re like me – different global time zones. I consider myself to be an agent of Anti-Time, since I generally don’t let it rule my life. For example: I go to bed when I’m sleepy, not at a set time. I get up when I’m ready, which generally coincides with the rising of the sun.

As Anti-Time as I am, this is personally laughable since I am the galaxy’s biggest proponent of atomic clocks. The neato thing about atomic clocks is that they are self-setting. If you can insert a battery and figure out just which time zone you’re occupying, you are in like flint. I love the fact that the U.S. atomic clock complex is located only a few hours as the crow flies from my location here in colorful CO.

In my line of work, it's important to interview people on time; hence my reliance on atomic clocks which are just about as close to "actual time" as one can get without warping into a discussion about Einstein and SpaceTime, gravity, and the curvature of the universe. The people I interview are clearing a portion of their day for me, and I respect that.

But returning to the subject at hand. Think about the ways time keeps us in its clutches. “I don’t have time to deal with this now.” “If I had time, I’d have a heart attack.” “What time should we meet?” “Time is money.” “This is a waste of time.” “Time [is/isn’t] on my side.” “Time flies when you’re having fun.” (With regard to that last one: does it fart if you aren’t?)

I like what James Taylor has to say about time: “The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time/Any fool can do it/There ain’t nothing to it/Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill/But since we’re on our way down/We might as well enjoy the ride.”

I also love this one from writer William Faulkner: “Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life.”

I have hopefully not wangled my friend’s nose too out of joint with this discourse. I just think it’s time to slow down and smell the roses…