The Secret O’ Life…

…” is enjoying the passage of time. Any fool can do it. There ain’t nothing to it. Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill. But since we’re on our way down…we might as well enjoy the ride.” I awoke to this 70’s song in my head from James Taylor. Couldn’t figure out why this song? Then I remembered…

I recently started wearing an analog watch that donned a cute little delicate pink second hand!! It was an intentional move. I realized I felt so disconnected from the passage of “TIME”. I tried to wear my mod looking Apple Watch. But it was always buzzing and oh, so needy! Interrupting my train of thought to remind me that my “exercise wring had closed”…Even though I had just walked ten steps to go pee! It felt like I was wearing an ankle bracelet on house arrest.

TIME was a number flashing on my little screen…8:02suddenlybecame8:03suddenlybecame8:04suddenly became…the digitalization of this dimension didn’t feel right! I had had enough. Time to go all anti-establishmentarian! Go analog!

I missed the predictive cadence of a second hand. One through twelve, divided into neat little aliquots of time and space. I suddenly realized why I had missed my analog watch all of these years. I’d worn a watch with a second hand my entire medical career… to count the heartbeats. How many beats in a ten second span. Multiply by 6! Viola! You have “heart beats per minute”. I recalled the hundreds, maybe thousands of children’s pulses I had gently searched for over the decades…fingers on a tiny artery, eyes on my second hand. That felt real to me. Palpating life as I counted the passage of time.

I missed the physicality of time. Knowing that once that little pink second hand moved from the last second to the next…that little wrinkle in time would be gone, never to be captured again. Sad that it had vanished but excited for the next second to take its place. And as hard as I’ve tried to slow down the passage of time, I can’t. The universal clock just keeps marching on. No matter what I’ve celebrated or endured. Whether I’m happy or sad…devastated or elated… fearful or confident…that little pink hand does not care. It signifies life to me. The beating of the heart. The pulse of the Universe.

So, now that I am 66 years old, feeling slower, pensive, wondering how I got here, missing my youth and wondering what’s next. What milestone/tragedy/joy/sorrow will that little pink second hand lead me to next? How many seconds are etched into my lifeline written on my palm? How many births will I witness? How many deaths will I endure? How many laughs can I squeeze in? How many tears will I shed? How many hugs can I give?

As that little pink second hand reminds me with every staccato step, ticking away like a soothing metronome on my wrist…time is ethereally. That second gone, a new one unfolding.

In a blink of an eye, I’ve gone from fatrat to a “grayma “. So, enjoy the ride!

Any fool can do it! There ain’t nothing to it!