Why is it that we measure our lives as the amount of years which have elapsed since our first breath? It would make more sense to measure them in the hours truly lived. And to reckon them as follows: Today : 2hours 26 minutes. Yesterday total waste. Day before: 1 hour. Age: 18902 hours, 17 minutes
Some minutes or hours of time in our lives contain so much life that they greatly outweigh their timely value. They feel like great flowing rivers, like mountains rising from the plains. Whereas other minutes or hours, even entire days of our existence could be cut from the movie reels of our lives without doing any harm to them. Perhaps even improving them, providing a more condensed and concentrated story, denser.
Often I wonder about how other people spend their days, and by extension their lives. As they probably do about me. Do they actually live? Do they feel those rivers flowing, or are they just the little almost dried up rivulets they appear to be to me. I can only imagine that to them, my life must sometimes appear to be a barren wasteland, but only because they fail to see the Nile which flows just under that barren land, I know the Nile is there, and at times when I can access it, my life feels like a lush oasis.
Do I live less than other people when I am going through the everyday actions which they perform? Or do I live as much at those times, but does it seem like such a waste because I know that when left to my own devices the value of my minutes and hours suddenly expands vastly. Hours encompassing more life than entire days of social activities and drudgery.
I am inclined to think that it is me who has the capacity of drawing more life from one minute, rather than the others. But this blessing comes with the curse of seeing so much more life float by untapped, at times when I am otherwise engaged.