Time
Time is a vital ingredient in the experience of New York City. Everyone is rushing for a train, a bus, a ferry, a cab – getting to a meeting, a conference, an appointment, a date. Rush here, run there, dash here, sprint there. Bosses are waiting, or clients, or family or friends. Maybe babies, pets, parents or doctors – but everyone moves with great purpose and great speed.
Clocks are everywhere, creating a constant ticking reminder that you’re about to be late. They are on every street corner, whether old-fashioned second-hand clocks, digital clocks, Times Square billboards displaying time and date. There are clocks on the freeway, clocks with chimes and bells in the churches that ring out Westminster’s chime. Grand Central Station is full of them, Tiffany’s has one of the most famous, and clocks are even embedded in the sidewalks. These gorgeous timepieces are not only marking time but are reminders of time in history. It is fun to think of people going by in their horse-drawn carriages checking their arrival at the opera with some of the same clocks that adorn the city today.
I’ve found that, even with these constant reminders, I’m either ridiculously early or somewhat late. The other day, I had a meeting in the East Village, and I ended up arriving an hour and 45 minutes early. In the rain. The reason it was so extreme is that when I had gone near there last week, it took a full two hours. Friday, it took 15 minutes. It was weirdly fast and I kept feeling like I was slipping through the looking glass. I even found a parking place just a block from the restaurant.
Happily, the restaurant had wifi and tea, so I could work while I waited for my companion to join me for our meeting. She was concerned that I had been waiting, but I laughed and explained, ‘rather early than late’.
It can look like a perfectly lovely day here in my little harbor in NJ, clear skies, not a care in the world. And then – I hit the Turnpike, or Lincoln Tunnel, or GW Bridge, and life comes to a complete standstill. Sometimes though, you can slip through these like a kayak on a raging river, and you arrive early – breathless, but early.
When I was in Belize a couple of years ago, the motto of the island I visited was “Go Slow”. Now, grammatically it leaves something to be desired, but the idea is interesting. A quote from their website: “Not that anybody can go really fast on a golf cart, a bike, or by walking, but you may be reminded to go slow even if you walk too fast! People here not only say “Go Slow”, they live it. Nothing happens fast on the island, be it on the street or at a restaurant.”
I guess time is unique to every single person. Maybe it is super slow for a very old person without many things to do, but for baby Arthur at 13 months, I bet it blows by – each day a whirlwind of learning and living and growing. He is now mobile – officially. They have an Ikea-type bookcase (with holes for bins), and they moved it from against the wall to become a room divider, putting his books on the second to the bottom shelf. It wasn’t there a minute before he decided those books needed to be pushed through to the other side, he hauled himself up onto the shelf to survey the pile from there and then went through, face first to land softly on the pile. Then he laughed and did it again! He’s all over the place now – trying to open drawers and doors, exploring things from the 2 ½ foot tall perspective. Time for me, at this point, is full of joy. Enough time to relish the things I love like my family, my job, and time to relax, exercise, heal, meditate, paint, and write. All is well. It’s the happiest time.
