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Time went by my front porch the other day, and I asked him in for lunch. But he responded, "I'm sorry, I cannot stop...I cannot stop for anything."
"But I want to talk!" I shouted desperately after him. He paid me no mind. I had no choice then, but to go along with him and quickly fall into his paces.
"Why can't you stop...even for lunch?" I asked.
"I mustn't," he said without breaking stride or sweat. He was steady not frantic, focused not obsessed.
"I have been ordered that I never stop," said he. "I am to trudge on no matter what obstacles or temptations come my way. And, believe me, there have been many."
"Is that right?" I was surprised.
"Every person who has ever lived has wished that I would stop or slow down at some point: People who don't want certain moments in their lives to end; people who don't want their kids to grow up so fast; people who don't want to say good-bye to those they love; people who don't want to grow older. Silent, heartrending begging that I must turn a deaf ear to. Wistful and melancholy human beings watching me go by, as you were. It's not that I don't sympathize, it's that by law I must march on."
"I see," I said.
"Some have been so desperate for more time that they've looked for ways to circumvent me. At least I get a laugh out of those."
"Oh?"
"Yes. The search for the fountain of youth, for one. People wanting to turn back time or put time in a bottle. A few have built time machines. Others have theorized time travel. None of this has worked real well."
"I suppose not."
"With no control over me, you human beings feel like you have little control over your lives. You often feel like you are on some great and ever plodding conveyor belt, eventually to be dumped off at the end...one after another. Even now you can't slow me down even a pace."
"That's clear," I responded. We were silent for about ten strides. As I walked, my pulse began to run...I was breathing harder. Still, I was thinking about what Time had said about our lack of control and feelings of desperation. "So how do we do this?" I finally asked. "How do we acknowledge the unending march of time and not panic?"
"Well, many have tried to bludgeon the fear out of their senses with alcohol, drugs or the like. But the problem is when you awake from your coma, I'm still marching on. No amount of altering the mind changes the reality."
"Yeah, there's got to be a better way."
"Others have turned to religion. It's not a bad option if you can get your head around it. Because in reality, it's not the passing of time that frightens you, it's that your time will end."
"True enough."
"And with most religions there is no end. I march on and you march right on with me...forever. Some say that I don't even exist in the next life, so time won't be an issue at all."
"Do you?"
"I'm not allowed to say," Time said with a wink.
"Of course not," I rolled my eyes.
"There are those, though, who have tried hard to believe in some type of religion," said he, "but they have not been able to reconcile faith with their genuine heart. Plus even those who believe, if they're being honest, will admit that they too wish that I would stand still at times. It's as human as breathing, eating and sleeping."
I thought for a moment. "It's frightening," I said. "It's made even scarier by the fact that you seem to go faster and faster the older we get-like you're in a hurry to finish us off."
"That's untrue, of course," said Time. "It just seems that way."
"Well, why does it seem that way then?"
Time lumbered forward as he continued his discourse, his speed never changed and his gate never wavered. I was tiring. I kept falling a half a step behind, but he was as strong as when he took his first step.
"Because," said he, "when you were young you wanted to be old, and now that you're old you want to be young."
"So?"
"When you were young," he explained, "you couldn't wait to grow up. When one wants something one doesn't have, time seems to go by slowly. If you're in line at an amusement park, the more you anticipate the ride, the longer the line seems to take. When you want a meeting at work to end, it seems to take forever. The more you watch a clock, the slower it seems to go."
I nodded.
"But when you're older, you don't anticipate the future nearly as much as you desire the past or, at minimum, to possess the present. It's the very reason why you tried to waylay me today. But possessing me is like grabbing air with your bare hands. You can't. The more you try, the more quickly I slip away. Time seems shorter for the wanting of it."
I gnawed on his explanation for a few beats.
He sighed. "In reality, I've always moved at the same pace."
There was silence between us for several steps.
"So I have some advice for you then," Time began again.
"I want to hear," said I.
"Go home," he said.
"Go home?" I asked perplexed.
"Yes. Go home. Stop wasting what time you have accosting me. You can't have me anyway. Live your life. Let the universe control time, you control how you pass it. Instead of panicking, look at the perceived speeding up of time like it's the final kick in a great race you're running to win. Finish it with exuberance knowing you ran as well as you could. See the finish line-death-as something that adds value to life. It's a deadline without which we would have no urgency. Without an end, earthly life would have little meaning."
Taking his words in, I began to slow...and his voice trailed off. Without a misstep, he turned and shouted one last instruction over his shoulder: "Find a purpose," he bellowed. "In purpose you'll find meaning, in meaning you'll find joy, and in joy I won't matter so much."
At that, Time turned his eyes forward down the advancing road. It was clear he was done with me, focused wholly on his relentless journey.
I was weary and stopped. In the distance he disappeared. As I turned his words over in my head, I suddenly saw Purpose walking past me on the road in the opposite direction. I spun on my heels and, with what strength I had left, began to chase her.
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