The clock is ticking...

"If you're always battling against getting older, you're always going to

be unhappy, because it will happen anyhow."

Schwartz, M – Tuesday’s with Morrie (Alblom, M)

The clock ticks and another minute expires, slowly, with the unrelenting deliberateness of a glacier grinding its way down a mountainside. The seconds’ fly, but minutes move imperceptibly from one to the next…and the next…and the next…

On this day…exactly the moment of this post (1300Z GMT or 0900 EDT), I will have repeated this cycle 33 million, 6 hundred 38 thousand, 400 times. That’s a lot of minutes.

We are not used to thinking in these increments of time; they seem, well…insignificant. Yet as the “...journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step…” countless minutes pile up providing a framework that permits each of us to become the person we are.

Minutes – in the big picture – seem relatively meaningless. Meaningless may not be correct, but barring unexpected death or terminal illness, we have millions of them to spend.

“The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of 

strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; 

for it is soon cut off, and we fly away…” (Psalms 90:10 – Bible)

We work through them, fight through them, sing through them, dance through them, love through them, sleep through them and do all manner of things to occupy our lives through them.

Birth – death…(taxes?)

While it is easy to lose track of the minutes in our lives, two are particularly meaningful. In the oddest of ways, while significant in the extreme – in the moment, their importance is completely lost on us.

The first minute signals the beginning, as we emerge from the womb with life and its unpredictability lying in front of us. We gasp for the thin atmosphere of air so alien from the amnionic fluid that moved in and out of our lungs in our mother’s womb. We do not remember this event, but family and close friends preserve memories of that promising entrance into life. Mothers cherish the miraculous fruit of their labor – the marvel of childbirth renewing the cycle of life - refreshed yet again.

Once that breath is taken, the clock begins ticking – minute after relentless minute toward the second truly extraordinary and meaningful minute and breath…our last! Everything in between is the lyric and music that brings meaning to our life experience.

A momentary pause...

Each stage of life happens only once. As infants we’re weak and need support; as children structure and education. We are impulsive and spontaneous in youth, serious and thoughtful in middle age and hopefully mature and reflective in old age…each of these seasons bear some sort of fruit – gathered and stored for the next stage.

This idea becomes more important as one edges into old age. What is old age anyway? Surely it comes after middle age, but where is that invisible line?

It has been said 60 years (31 million minutes and change) is the new 40. It is not clear to me what that means either. Over the years, it always seemed strange to hear people I knew resist (as if they could) entering their 30s and 40s as though they were somehow toxic. There must be a marker or measurement somewhere that I missed as the decades have come and gone.

I have got to be honest here, as I rose the morning following my 30th, 40th, 50th and 60th birthdays, I felt pretty much the same as I had the day before. It should also be noted, except for the inability to jump as high, run as fast or hold my breath as long, the passing of this 63rd year as I write, has been the best of my life…as were the previous years when I was living them.

Back to the minutes…

While each of us is somewhat different, the time course of life – barring an unforeseen event – is fixed. Nature, which constructed the unimaginably intricate body in which we live, as if to say, “…this time is enough…” deliberately and thoughtfully deconstructs our lives…easing us toward the unavoidable end of earthly experience. It is the natural order of things, the rhythm of life repeated billions of times, not something to be feared – rather embraced.

That first minute, begins with a blank slate…the last minute, preceded by adventure after adventure, passes as we leave behind all that we have known. In the most profound of ways, we are curiously clueless about both. We share neither excitement of the beginning of our lives, nor sorrow of the departure from it. We, the principle character in the play, are given little insight into either event. We only gain a little understanding by witnessing the birth or death of others. It is even ironic that we celebrate the battle and struggle to begin life and sorrow for the final peace that we all seek.

The final breath occurs as we fight to maintain the life that began so many uncounted minutes before…the last breath – the ‘agonal gasp’ as it is called, signals a close to the journey – a shedding of the physical skin…leaving all behind.

Old age?

If I am approaching old age (as part of the 'new 40s'), I am grateful there is no indication as to when that last minute and breath will occur. Since it is clear that it will happen and there is nothing to be done about it, I can set that aside and get on with everything I possibly can out life...embracing it as it comes. At this time of life, there is better focus and a cutting away of the distractions of earlier years...because this time of life permits paying attention to the things that have more meaning to me.

While “I…have repeated this cycle 33 million, 6 hundred 38 thousand, 400 times,” I know a couple of  things:

     1. If my last minute and breath were to occur as this post is sent, I could not have asked for a better and more quality life experience. Having said that…

     2. I’m looking forward to a few million more!

- ted