What is time?

I have no doubt that every person to have ever walked the earth has had this exact question; I’m not special in that way. I do feel preoccupied with time though, and I don’t know how unique or not that is among humans. I took a moment to look up an official definition:

The progress of existence…

Time can’t be seen, but evidence of it can be observed. When we watch the clock—or watch a watch—we are observing the passage of time. When we see the light change and shadows deepen as the sun moves across the sky, we are observing the passage of time. When we look in the mirror and see gray hair or wrinkles, we are observing the passage of time. And yet…time feels as though it is passing quickly, passing slowly, passing us by, running out. There will come a day when we will realize time is growing short and that a whole lifetime is so very short. (Personal anecdote: that day happens around age 50.)

I once had a dream about clocks. I was standing in a room full of alarm clocks, the kind with the two big bells on top. There were hundreds, thousands, of them covering the entire floor and even though I knew I was standing among them, I was actually looking up at them. I’ve never forgotten this dream (which I had in my 20s) and I’ve never stopped wondering what it meant. The most likely explanation is that I was becoming aware of a lifetime of time passing, but that seems like a dream I would have now in my 50s, when I’m really feeling and processing it.

I love clocks and watches and have a modest collection of both. I’m particularly fond of the vintage watches I own and wear. The dials themselves are indicators of time, inasmuch as they are products of the period in which they are manufactured. You can date a watch by its number font, arm style, dial color, band style. Looking at a vintage watch is like looking into the past, thinking about when and where it was created, who designed and built it, who wore it before me and how they passed the time in their own life. It makes me feel as though I’m part of the continuation of the progress of existence in a very specific way.

The ticking of a clock as it mimics a heartbeat is a way of observing time pass. One thing I love and have come to depend on as a New Yorker is the rhythmic whooshing and thumping of subway trains, particularly when they rush beneath us, vibrating the sidewalk and sending sound waves up into the air around us. In a real way the subway is the heartbeat of the city, another reminder of both life and time as they steadily pass; millions of people moving in and out of the network of tubes, the circulatory system of the city. 

When I was a little girl, I couldn’t wait to know things, to understand things. When you’re young it’s difficult to comprehend what time teaches you: there are no short cuts. Knowledge and experience are gained in due time. We move forward relentlessly, experiencing time in its ebbs and flows, marveling at the enormity of it—and the minutiae. There’s something terribly final about looking at December 31 on the calendar and something awesomely hopeful about turning to January 1. That’s how it should be. The progress of existence…

[Cross-posted at Substack]