Did you know that Nepal is 15 minutes off from any other time zone around the world? Most are an hour apart, a few are half and hour, but only Nepal is 15 mins off.
I like that. I like a little grace in a day. I like the idea that you can go mere feet over a border and somehow gain laignappe. I usually need that in my schedule, suffering from a chronic lateness that I jokingly blame on growing up on Arab time, except we were practically the only Arabs in town. So it can hardly be called a cultural norm. The truth is, I simply like to linger. Over coffee, in the shower, listening to music, having a conversation. As much as I run, run, run between things, I like to savor them while I’m there. It’s the gaps in between that aren’t large enough, or perhaps I’m not disciplined enough to enlarge them.
The truth is the gapping maw of uninterrupted time scares me. The idea of not filling my days with THINGSTODO is alarming. Yes, I like unstructured time, but even that I plan for. I schedule it. Finding myself with unexpected free time is… hard to deal with. I am an only child and an extrovert, it’s true. An extrovert in extremis. To the max. Mega. I have a friend who jokes that I book up a month in advance, and it’s completely true. I like having things to look forward to doing in the future. Even on nights when I’m thoroughly exhausted and am honestly looking forward to take out and staring blankly at the TV, I’ll get to about 9pm and be like… “I’m bored. Somebody come play with me.”
It’s the time that’s been getting to me lately. The ticking of the clock, not knowing where the minutes are heading, and not knowing what I’ve done with the ones that have passed. If someone is there with me, it somehow makes it seem worthwhile. It seems purposeful. But alone, the time gives me time to think, mostly about time itself, and how there never seems to be enough of it when you really need it, and too much of it when you don’t. So I linger, in the hopes that each moment will reveal it’s purpose, maybe just a little bit past the tick.