TAKE YOUR TIME

Because no one else can

On cold, dark winter evenings I put celebratory holiday candles on the windowsills of our 18th-century New England farmhouse. I keep them up all winter, as it looks so cheery to drive up on a cold night and see the golden flickering illumination glowing from every window. Lighting them when it falls dark and snuffing them out at bedtime are intentions I set and opportunities to meditate on how to bring light into my life.

Pictured: Hardened criminals in the act of theft. By Paul Bransom.

Now it is almost spring, and the maple trees have been tapped. The black bears woke early this season; they drink straight from the sap buckets, drain them dry, and toss the empties like beer cans at an ursine frat party. Daylight Savings Time is upon us, and the prospect of later sunsets is a reminder to finally take down my beautiful winter candles.

Where does time go?

Between the demands of work, family, friends, managing a chronic illness, writing, speaking gigs, being a patient advocate, and the everyday hustle and bustle of living in the 21st century, the silent and swift flow of time seems to accelerate with every season. I’ve oversubscribed to philosophical newsletters, and the tower of books next to my nightstand is staggeringly tall. Where has all my intentional reading time gone? Tempus fugit.

When I was diagnosed with a chronic, treatable, but incurable degenerative neurological disease, I was told that my life expectancy wasn’t going to match that of my peers. I’ve now outlived my predicted expiration date by a decade and a half. I’m into my extra innings, my bonus round on the house. No one truly knows how many seasons we will see; how many more times will I set the candles on the windowsills? How many more springs will I cheer for my son as he rows on the Thames with his crew team? How many more treatments will keep me going until they lose their power to keep my brain lesion at bay?

Seneca observed in the opening sentence of “On the Shortness of Life” that “the life we receive is not short, but we make it so, nor do we have any lack of it, but we are wasteful of it.” These words reverberated through me like a cherry bomb in a wind chime factory. We are given all the life we need; it is when we race through it, over-scheduling our lives, and scrolling until our thumbs bleed, that our days feel short.

I accept the fact that I have an unknown but finite amount of time and a limited amount of energy. It is up to me to make the most of my days. When anxiety, trivia, and reality TV shows threaten to make my mind full, I become mindful instead. Instead of rushing through things, I slow down. I go deep on one thing instead of scattering my attention across a dozen things.

My mantra when I’m on the verge of getting overwhelmed is “Some things are in our control and others not,” the bracing opening of Epictetus’ Enchiridion. (Another thing I’ve learned from Stoicism is to always start off with a bang. What is it with Stoics and first sentences, anyway?) Not everything is in my power to control, but I can control what I give my time and attention to. It’s easy to fall into the error of thinking control refers only to our ability to take action in the world, or not. But Epictetus is quite clear that what’s in our control is our own mind. Stoic mindfulness is about our ability to control what we pay attention to.

It’s one of the maddening perversities of life that sometimes we barely notice we’re alive and often the only time we do is when we’re close to not being alive. Pay attention. Sharon Lebell’s version of Epictetus, “The Art of Living,” contains the line “You become what you give your attention to.” Give your attention to a philosophical newsletter, or the great novel “Erasure.” Maybe you will simply pay attention to your own thoughts; self -knowledge is the most necessary knowledge of all.

Albert Einstein at the age of 3. Look at that little miracle.

Albert Einstein said there are two ways to live your life, one as if nothing is a miracle, the other as if everything is a miracle. I’m on team everything. I believe that if you are mindful, and pay close attention, you will see miracles.