On the futility of thinking about time 

Something tells me that the time you enjoy wasting, isn’t a waste after all. But it behooves me to say that the saying is borrowed and certainly not how we perceive it normally. The procrastinator in me is always looking for ways to waste time and believe me, I have my share of unfinished tasks on multiple to-do list service providers to prove my point. I end up doing something that I like to do (for instance, writing this rather than actually working) and that certainly does not lend me much by way of satisfaction. It’s the age that we lie in when we believe that our time is so precious and directly attributable to some or the other gains (monetary and otherwise) that despite spending the time doing what you did enjoy in the thick of it, you end up getting out of that time slot exhausted, irritated and supremely unhappy with yourself. 

I read something on nytimes today that kind of goes with this – the phenomena where the dabblers feel like imposters who’s reality hey believe will be exposed shortly, casting them as frauds and new-quacks. I suppose that when these doubts emerge, you get the feeling that what you like doing isn’t much of a real thing as that boring job that you need to get done with. And therefore the satisfaction you derive from doing them vaporizes the moment you are past it. In a world where we are always primed with the reality of just how short life can be, this idea of being annoyed of having wasted our time is without doubt the single biggest source of dissatisfaction and depression. 

There is a sense of futility when you deal with time. Seeing yourself loose your standing as time creeps up on you is, I believe, a good source of sadness for people like me. Just the other day I happened to observe he sadness that crept up on an old lady when the little girl beside her grew scared of her because of the wrinkles that had come up on her face.  Maybe it was my perception only, but the passage of time certainly brings out this sense of constantly losing against time. I suppose, the wastage becomes more of an issue when we realize the limited time that we have on our hands. 

I tend to think of time a lot, maybe more than I ought to. Maybe because I am at the threshold of what you can call a milestone in generational shifts. Already I see me extricating myself away from the majority of activities that the younger ones around me take for granted. Already, in my desires I find myself closer to people who are older than me. Signs such as these, coupled with an over-emphasis on my sense of observation (as the subway mention above show) makes for a combustible mixture. A mixture I am wont to absorb and identify with.



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