Ronna Fisher, Content and Assistant Editor
I am afraid of a lot of things. I do not like snakes or cactuses. When I was eighteen, after I rode the tower of terror at Disney World I sat in a corner and cried. There are a lot of things I will not do: I will never sky dive. I will never be on fear factor. I will never be okay with ropes courses. I am afraid of going roller skating because I have forgotten how. I do not like ice skating because I am afraid of falling. I am afraid of failure, of being alone. I am petrified with fear when I think of that obscure, forever-haunting word “future,” of being away from close friends and family.
However, I am mostly afraid of time. I am afraid of the passing of it, of not having enough of it, of losing track of it. The idea that I will forget what it feels like to be in, feel, and think at this very moment scares me. Knowing that with each passing second memories grow shadier and farther away and that goodbyes and change speed toward me like a runaway train absolutely terrifies me. I am afraid of forgetting the beautiful hands I have held, the terribly wonderful conversations shared, the scars that were given and received and healed, or the slightly manic, moments full of hilarity and laughter.
I try to “manage” my time, as if that were even possible. My friends laugh at my daily minute-by-minute schedules. Although I am a terrible procrastinator, I constantly read and learn about time-management strategies and how to not procrastinate. And I always try to be aware of and live in “the moment.”
I fail. Over and over again, I climb into my bed feeling that my day has been absolutely worthless. Wasted. I constantly ask myself, “What are you doing with your life?” And, to be honest, I have not got a clue. Sure, I am doing things. My days are full. I have a goal, and I remind myself that I am in school for a reason. Yet, many days, schedules, to-do lists feel absolutely pointless.
As I watch my younger sisters grow taller, I can literally see time passing as they grow into confident, athletic, musically gifted teenagers. As I watch graduation and good-byes approach swiftly, with each sunset and sunrise, I am exceedingly aware of the passing of time.
And, the older we are, the more life we have lived. So each minute, day, or week is a smaller percentage of the life you have lived. That is why when we were younger Summer seemed to last forever (and car rides and church and trips to the store), and now we feel that time goes by so much quicker . . . because it is.
And I do not want to waste it.
One of my favorite bloggers, Glennon Doyle Melton, writes that she used to always want to carpe diem, seize the day. That is completely impossible, she explains. We just have to seize the moments that we can. I am not sure how, but I want to do better. I want to seize the moments, at least. It is okay to be afraid of time, of that dark, hungry second hand that always wants more. It allows us to be aware of the time we have, to help us take advantage of it.
Melton says we should “Carpe a couple of Kairoses a day” instead. She writes, “Kairos is God’s time. It’s time outside of time. It’s metaphysical time. Kairos is those magical moments in which time stands still. I have a few of those moments each day, and I cherish them . . . These kairos moments leave as fast as they come—but I mark them. I say the word kairos in my head. And at the end of the day, I don’t remember exactly what my kairos moments were, but I remember them . . . If I had a couple Kairos moments during the day, I call it a success.”
Are you afraid of time? Do you feel like no matter how hard you try to carpe diem, days just fly by, insignificant? What do you say? Would you like to try and carpe a couple of kairos with me?