Gallim Dance Blog

Encountering Time

By Caroline Fermin

OK, let’s start with an image: me in my living room, staring at my computer/the orange curtains by the window, the light growing brighter, the day wearing on. Now another image: me in my living room, staring at my computer/the orange curtains by the window, the light fading away, night coming fast. And I ask myself, “Where has the day gone?” You see me now a little disturbed–I have let time pass so quickly and unmarked. More with alarm than inspiration, I leap to my feet and try to get many things done at once, the quicker the better. Making up for lost time they say. 

Yes, but where has my time gone? And more vexing, why did it feel so sad to lose it?

I’m not sure why it happened, but I’ve been aware of time passing from an early age. The first awareness I can remember happened in a series of weird little episodes when I was three or four. I would be doing normal things out with my family, and suddenly I was able to literally sense time with my fingertips. I experienced it as either very thick and dense or very thin and brittle. It would last for a few moments and then I’d snap out of it. Time would bounce back to normal, but I would ruminate on the sensation. Later, at the ripe old age of eight, I had another very specific episode. I was laying in bed, thinking about my earlier years, and how easy life had been… The naps at school, the play dates, the parental hugs whenever I wanted. Then I began to take stock of my current situation–math homework, bullies in the cafeteria, and grueling ballet class twice a week! I started to realize that I was older and math wasn’t going to get any easier. In fact, school, friends, dance, and the whole of life was just going to get harder and harder. As it often happens when one realizes a major truth, I began to cry. Luckily my mother came in and with gentle words got me back to sleep. But in the morning the truth had fully sunk in, and I began my obsession with time. 

For a while my objective was trying to fit a lot of things into a tiny amount of time. I would write Official Schedules for myself in purple marker on my wall, wake up and try to get everything in. You know, everything. Like writing chapter books, recording a radio show, playing with friends, and walking the dog. Large portions of the schedule would be lopped off when earlier activities bled beyond their allotted time. New activities would get added to the bottom to make up for aforementioned failures. My Official Schedules began to get horribly backed up and I began to get more and more frustrated. The short five hours between school and bed were just not enough. So I decided to wrangle time in another way. Enter: editing.  Now I was going to do less but make it really good. So see you later Girl Scouts, and ta-ta to that little kiddie dance studio. I started honing in on what really mattered. I began taking lots of classes to get really good at ballet. I started studying a bit harder to get really good grades at school. I stayed up later to make really good art projects. Things were going really good for some time until one frightening day I made an D on my homework, lost the good dance role to my friend Lindsey, and didn’t get my artwork chosen for display. ARGH! All that culling and pruning and I was still missing something. Using my time wisely had done nothing for me this time. With a growing distrust in the rules of time management and nowhere left to go, I sort of gave up. Little by little I began to relinquish myself. I got in trouble for being tardy. I missed the bell for homeroom because I stopped for coffee. I forgot my homework because I stayed up all night reading mystery books. It became clear that time was passing on without me, whether I accomplished my ambitions or simply laid low. So I eased my grip on life, and life rewarded me with more time. “Don’t use so much and then there is plenty left over!” it seemed to say.

So what big truth did I learn? “Don’t waste your time?” Or “Slow down and smell the roses?” Which is it? 

You know, It’s hard to say. Somehow, as I get older and lose more of my allocated time, I also gain a bit more balance. Sometimes I rush to accomplish lots, and sometimes I’m happy to rest in stillness. It is as if the more I encounter time, the more I learn how to handle the darned stuff. Aha! There it is! A big truth! Which brings me back, with a thud, to my present: the computer, the night, the long hours spent here in this chair. I am more dexterous, yes! I am more balanced, yes! But still there’s that sadness. But it’s a good sadness. It’s sobering and healthy, and it reminds me that that I cannot outfox time. And why try to, anyway? It seems to me that the longer I exist, the more I want time as a friend.