What can I get done in a minute and forty five seconds? Can I write a paragraph? Two? Can I read a few pages of a book—maybe just one or two? I fear I can do less than I think I can, primarily because of the adrenaline that pumps through me at the presence of a countdown clock. My fingers shake just a bit more, my eyes flicking between my task and the timer, the seconds before my show comes back on.
I think often about time, about how much is granted to me, about what I’ve made with the time I’ve already gotten. It’s never not on my mind, really. The countdown clock.
I don’t think that’s such a strange thing. I don’t know how someone can go through their days without thinking about its finite nature. I am grateful every time I get in my car and make it to my destination. I am grateful every time my plane lands. I am grateful every time I close my eyes and manage to wake up again the next morning.
It’s an honor to get to fill my time with keeping a blog, working through a reading list, exercising, even going to work. Every moment is a gift.