This one feels like the moment a monologue would break the fourth wall: configure the set, center the stage, wait for the spotlight to crank and allow the audience in…
“time does not exist.
While people often laugh when I share this perceptual mantra, my desire to hold this as a true belief comes from a most important space.
There was a day, one handful of years ago, when I was sitting across from a friend. The clock spoke a workday’s end and I was reaching for my backpack for a pack-up. My physical reach was interrupted by my friend’s emotional reach to continue our conversation. This friend, for a reason I don’t even remember in detail now, needed me to hold time and space for his thoughts. The right and wish for a connection in his eyes was so palatable; it was as if he had grabbed my hand and said do you have a second. I turned back towards him, eased back into my seat and said hey, how’s it going. As I did, I remember thinking, there is absolutely no way I am going to make it to my incredibly important appointment that is scheduled 45 minutes from now.
Knowing that ‘she always listened’ was the legacy I was always hoping-and-speaking to leave, I let time drift off to be anything (absolutely anything) but important in that moment. I saw it go gently off into my peripheral and witnessed the conversation arrive as its replacement. This could-have-waited chit-chat was rich and lovely and joyful; we were so far in that it felt like an hour, maybe two, had passed – yet, I miraculously still made it to my appointment.
To this day, I have no idea how this was able to happen. Even once I arrived at my expected destination, I couldn’t reconcile how I was gifted everything within that unexpected conversation. I experienced it as karma in the best-of-best ways between us and knew, right then and there, what it meant to live a legacy.
minutes turned into moments and time became infinite; the moon and sun serving only as placeholders for a life well-lived
That was when I decided that time was not meant to exist. I made a commitment to show up for others in the fullest of ways. If someone was sharing, I would be listening and nothing else would matter. Everything that could be important in a day’s hours still would be, and should be, if I could and would just release the panic of what’s when and what’s next, of what’s planned and what needs to be done.
and I mastered this to the point it was effortless
When a feeling of time limits started to creep in, I would manipulate minutes to create banks of moments to have in my pocket for later. When the coffee line was shorter than normal, I would recognize those extra seconds and metaphorically save them for later in the day. When I hit every green light, I would demand myself to figure out how I would use those extra twinklings for love. Sometimes I banked that time for someone else; sometimes it was banked for me and a longer walk.
this was peace
I’ve lost my legacy just a little bit lately. My self-knowing, crazy superpower feels a tad more tame, lame and timid. This is not a good or bad thing or something to beat myself up about – it just is. I have grown indulgent: more busy and increasingly distracted. If you have sat across from me, next to me or near me lately, especially with a longing to be heard, you certainly still have been. However, you likely have also heard a tick-tock over the intentional silence you deserve: a slight release of my eyes, a shake of my being or something else foreign to what you previously knew of me. Know that I know it, too.
But I want my madness back, and the fourth wall has been broken.”