With Time on My Hands

          As the recent weekend came to an end, I became aware that I had some time on my hands. No, really, I had time on my hands. I was putting away my freshly washed socks and as I placed them in the drawer, I realized that in the bottom of the drawer were a number of old watches.

         There were two watches that were owned by my grandfather, including a pocket watch and chain. There were several from my father and then there were the ones that I had purchased over the years. Among the collection was the first watch I had ever owned, a Christmas gift from my grandparents, engraved on the back with the year and date. There was a watch from  my wife with my college alma mater on its face.  

       There were no great finds here in monetary terms, only the value in memories.  Each watch had stopped at a different time.

          As I pondered the fate of the collection, I began to think about the concept of time. It is one thing that every person alive in the world has in common. Male, female, black, white or Hispanic, we are truly created equal, at least when it comes to time. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour and twenty four hours in a day. It is what we do with that time during a lifetime that makes us different.

          There is the neighbor down the street who appears to be involved in every committee going in town. How does he find the time? So what if he cuts his grass after the sun has gone down while I am trying to watch television, or the soccer mom, taking the kids to practice, then racing home to cook dinner and out to the PTA meeting.

          I remember trying to cram as much into a twenty four hour period as I possibly could. The job and family demanded it, life demanded it, or so I thought. But the second hand continued to tick off the seconds at a consistent, rhythmic pace, the same for everyone on the planet. No person’s second is any longer or shorter than anyone else’s.

           But that is where the similarity ends. While each minute and hour may be the same, it is the total amount of time we spent living that varies. There are many who live well into old age while others die at a young age because of illness or some catastrophic event that cuts short a life. One only needs to read the obituary pages in the local newspaper to see the range of ages at which people lose a life to accident, illness or some other cause.

          As I looked at the watches in my hand, each one had stopped at a different moment and I began to understand that ‘time’ was a gift.  I thought about how much time I had wasted. That time wasted was something I would never gain back, no mater how long I lived. It was gone. What I decided at that moment was that I didn’t want to do is waste any more time.

        By the way, I don’t wear a watch any more.