My time

Time is an interesting concept. As time passes, we think of the minutes and hours that make up the day as progressing in a linear fashion at regular intervals. We often think these minutes and hours, days, weeks and years are definitive of time, but they aren’t. They don’t define time; they measure it. They are neat units created to measure the passage of time; a tool invented to help us think about where we have been, what we are doing, and where we are going. But they are a man-made construct and just one way to view time.

There is actually a lot of interesting research on time. For example in her book, No Time: Stress and the Crisis of Modern Life, Heather Menzies talks about differences between clock time and calendar time on the one hand and reflective multiple time on the other where experiences, expectations, and stress come together and create situations that, for women especially, can be overwhelming. Julia Kristeva has introduced a concept she calls women’s time, which she sees as cyclical rather than linear and chronological. Others have argued that the linear notion of time with a distinct orientation towards the future is, in fact, a capitalist notion, where time and space are reduced to units that can be divided and measured. And we do like to measure things.

But theory aside, I think anyone can see how the passage of time can be cyclical. Life seldom moves forward in a timely fashion but happens more in waves and things come back and haunt us as history repeats itself. Time will sometimes move so slowly if feels as if it is standing still, and sometimes it will gallop forward in giant leaps depending on who you are, where you are, and what you are doing. And the most mindboggling notion of all is when the pace of time can simultaneously be so vastly different for different people. Time that snails its way forward for one person might at the same time be fast and fleeting for another.

Personally, I have thought a lot about time lately. The reason is that many people have recently told me how great it is that I seem to have so much time to do what I love. They’re referring to my painting, which has recently evolved from being a private hobby to a more public endeavor thanks to my Instagram account. I love to paint and it brings me such joy and inspiration, and works as a wonderful counterbalance to other things that fill my life. If I could, I would probably paint much more than I do now, but I don’t because I have a job that I want to keep and family and friends who I don’t want to neglect. So I confine my painting to my free time.

The thing about these comments regarding me being lucky to have so much time to paint is that they are often followed by a wistful remark about how they wish they also had extra time to do something they love. However the truth is, although I have a lot of freedom as a researcher in how I plan my time, I really don’t think I necessarily have that much more time than anyone else. As I said, I have my job, my family and my friends; and I have obligations that compete for my time and attention. But I really want to paint so I do it anyway every chance I get, which is often on a Saturday or Sunday morning, still in my pajamas. I take moments whenever I can.

You see, when you really want to do something, when you feel like you have to, suddenly you find the time because you make time. Your priorities might change and what you didn’t have time for before creates time for itself and becomes a space where time stands still. Sometimes this space in time is five minutes, sometimes an hour, I never really know. But it is my time and when I come back to the bustle of family, work, and household chores, it’s like I’ve been away on a mental vacation. And coming back is good, especially knowing that in the evening or the next morning I’ll be back in my time and space again, vacationing up to my elbows in paint.

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