What Is Time Anymore?

A November sunset in Vancouver, BC.

The (ongoing) pandemic has made me more aware of time than I've been at any previous time in my life. Without any sadness or despair, I used to say that seasons barely mattered to me. They only determined what I wore as I walked from my car to my office. I'd look down, look back up, and a year had passed me by without much notice on my part, certainly without much intention. Rare was the moment that I took stock of a year recently passed with an eye on what I wanted from the future. I just let time hustle me through, like a parking lot attendant waving frantically at me to hurry and comply with their direction, unwilling to allow me the space to take stock of the situation for myself.

COVID broke everything that had been true about time. We no longer understood time. Remote work handed me up to 3 extra hours a day. I had to learn to stay put. Live comedy, my art of the previous 7 years, was gone. There was nothing of which to fear missing out. Time was (for some of us) eerily abundant.

COVID pushed me outdoors. Sunsets, walks, sunrises, and bike rides took the place of restaurants, bars, breweries, and indoor social hangs. The weather started affecting me. The tides affected me. The rise and setting of the sun affected me. I was suddenly in tune.

Pandemic winters were so much harder than pandemic summers, in my experience. My particular brand of seasonal depression set in for the first time in my life. I saw upcoming seasons and years as a limited resource, something that I wanted to approach intentionally. I did not want to waste them. What resulted, for me, was a deeper understanding of a year gone by, its themes, and patterns. Time actually started to matter.

2020 - Fear. Accommodation. Survival.

What would you do if everything you took for granted (except Chick-Fil-A) shut down, went away, or was in danger of going away? If every interaction you experienced with another human came with a significant health risk? If the institutions, organizations, and relationships that you relied on for your well being and identity could no longer provide those things for you? For me, the answers were that you would create reasonable if less ideal facsimiles of these things online, make a practice of being outdoors, discover a love of Chesapeake Bay sunsets, and find music again. You'd fall asleep with The Office on every night. You would feel fear, doom scroll, and beg your children to understand and share your fears. You would let some things go. Eat outside. Start to learn to trust through uncertainty. You would continue down the long, eternal road of cultivating an internal identity, one that was less susceptible to external forces.

2021 - Insight. Healing. Magic.

What would you do if the new became the new normal? What if you were still mostly without the forces that drove your prior life but you were less afraid? For me, I leaned into what got me through the previous year. More sunsets, audiobooks, walks, projects. I continued to get better at spending time alone. I started asking questions that I had not previously made time to answer. Most of them boiled down to "why am I like this?". I discovered the answers were there. My brain broke open. I began to experience magic regularly (or at least became able to witness it). I experienced an unprecedented level of emotional healing. I went places I had never gone both literally and emotionally. I began asking myself what I wanted. I started having answers.

2022 - Renewal. Presence. Connection.

What if life presented the best version of yourself (to date) the opportunity for a fresh start? What if you moved out of the home you'd lived in for 16 years and previously shared with your ex-wife? What if you no longer lived with your oldest child and time with them had to be intentional? What if you found that you were closer to them now that you no longer lived together? What if you moved back in with your youngest child, then one who had spent the prior two years living full time with their mother and taught you that it was possible to grow closer to someone you love despite not living with them? What if you were 10 minutes from the ocean instead of 30? What if you were 30 minutes from your art and social life instead of 10? What if you finally liked yourself and finally had the time and the means to decide what you wanted to do with yourself? I went for a walk. Dozens of them, most accented by the sun rising from the ocean. I bought the geeky folding bike that I'd wanted for 15 years and rode a couple hundred miles on it. I started listening to hip hop again for the first time since the 80s. I started a blog. I hosted adult beach parties. I prioritized connected time with my growing, near adult children. I continued to go places I'd never been before. I got an air fryer. I was still outside. I was still affected by the seasons. I was happy. And then, the craziest thing happened. I fell in love with an amazing woman.

2023 (Calling my shot) - Learning. Joy. Creation.

In the upcoming year, I will gain incredible wisdom by surrounding myself with those who are doing the work and figuring things out. In my audiobooks, my friendships, my family connections, the art and media I consume, and my hobbies, I will prioritize people who have experienced healing or at a minimum recognize the need for it. I will prioritize places where the aesthetics are soothing and healing. I will make space for joy with my girlfriend and her family, my kids, my friends, and myself. That joy will often be outdoors. It will occur in new places. The sun, in its various states of arriving and departing, will feature prominently. I will work up a sweat and my heartrate will be elevated. I will remember the things that I love in the world and make time for them. I will create. I will continue to write here, create opportunities to be onstage, and collaborate with artists who enhance my feelings of connection. I will continue to create this new version of my life, one that I am learning to blend with another's. I will do it all without losing my sense of self.

Let's fucking go. We got this.