The fragility of water

 Things feel different lately. We never know if the latest incident is going to be the one that leads to a progression in my diseases, so each one is treated with urgency and care. Normally, I bounce back and am fine, but that’s not happening this time. I mean, I’m OK, I’m just not back to my version of normal. Don’t get me wrong, I think I have years left on this planet, but I also live with the knowledge that things can escalate quickly and seemingly out of the blue. But here’s the thing: I made my peace with the fragility of my life years ago and, while I don’t want to die, I’ve accepted it with peace.  

There’s a lovely scene in the movie Seeking a Friend for the End of the World where one character says to another, “But it isn’t enough time.” The other character responds: “It never would have been.” They were talking about the limited time they had together and, I think, stating the obvious: there is never enough time to be with the people you love. We are all wasting time in one way or another. We choose to stay home and watch TV because we can’t be bothered to go out; we choose to stay in bad marriages because we’re too stubborn or scared to make a change; we choose to stay in jobs that destroy us a little bit every day because the alternatives seem terrifying. I can understand the job scenario far more than the other two because the other two deal with the relationships we have with others; I will always believe that those relationships are the most important part of our lives and our time. So it is almost physically painful to me to see a person stagnate, or watch relationships be destroyed over stupid things like mistakes or misunderstandings. Yet, I’ve seen a fair amount of that lately; it’s sad and it’s wasteful. 

The idea that there exists time to waste is unthinkable. It’s gone before it begins, metaphysically speaking; what could be is nonexistent and cannot exist until you make it exist.  To know that time is rapidly decreasing for you is to inject a sort of hardening of purpose into everything you do. You can do what it is you want to do, the thing you know will bring you joy, or you can wait and hope things work themselves out on their own. Yet, we know that things rarely work themselves out on their own and that doing nothing is itself a kind of doing; it is a willful slipping away. 

Time is like water:  No matter how hard we try to contain it, it will eventually evaporate on us. All we can do is play in it for a brief time and hope we don’t drown before it’s gone.  It’s easier to float when you accept that your buoyancy is temporary and fragile and always, always easier when there’s someone worth staying afloat for. Time is happening, fragility is around us and in us; what are you going to do about the waste in your life?