When I was a child, time moved slowly. I’d go out front and climb the tree that was in our yard. I felt like I was out there for hours when it was probably about thirty minutes. I was present. I wasn’t distracting myself with my own thoughts. I wasn’t worried about what I had done that day or what I still needed to do.
As I’ve gotten older, the time has sped up. Days go by quicker. Time is so easy to access. It’s in our cars, on our phones, and microwaves. We’re reminded throughout our days where we are in time. The more we’re reminded, the quicker the days go.
The other day, I felt time slow down. I was resting my eyes for an hour. I put my eye pillow over my eyes and settled into the darkness. I was listening to a New Yorker article that lasted one hour and eight minutes.
I probably spent the last thirty minutes of that sixty-eight minutes thinking the hour was almost up. But the article continued on and I kept guessing when would be over. Normally, I would give up before the hour was over because I would get restless. But every time I would adjust the pillow over my eyes, I would get hints of how bright the light was in my room. Then I’d relax into the comfort of the darkness.
For the first time, I welcomed the slowness of time. I trusted that the hour would be up eventually. And when it was I got up and walked to the bathroom to open up my eyes. I felt more relaxed than I had in a long time.