When you’re a kid, sitting in school on a warm spring day, the clock can’t move fast enough. You stare at the clock, willing that second hand to move.
When you’re a young man, early in your career, you feel the same sort of thing about the workdays’ passing. You can’t wait for the workday to end, for the work week to end, to get to the weekend so you can paaar-tayyyy.
In the middle years, you move on to the weeks and months, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your annual vacation. You will the working time away so you can get to your relaxation time.
Given the sheer volume of time we spend wishing our lives away, is it really fair to say that time is “precious?” It is irreplaceable, but we certainly don’t act as if time is precious, until we approach the end.
My perspective on time is different, as it is with everything I suppose. I don’t think time is precious, and spend it freely. I think this is due to my depression,. which causes me to spend a great deal of time meticulously planning my own demise. I find I have too much time left in this life, not to little.
The only time I have that is precious is the time I spend with my kids, and my wife. The rest of my time is simply waiting, wishing it away, until I can be with them again.
As I contemplate this, it occurs to me that I’m on a time limit. When comes the day that I no longer have time with my kids to look forward to, whatever will to live I have will be gone.
