How Do You Measure Time in a Day? | Getting back up after flying too close to the sun.
According to the song “Seasons of Love” from the musical Rent, a year has 525,600 minutes.
And we know a day has 24 hours, which translates to 1440 of those yearly minutes. But what does that mean beyond measuring the passing of time?
As we emerge out of the fear and confusion that was March 2020 — March 2021, I hear a lot of conversations about time. What is it? Does it exist? Do we all experience it the same?
While I don’t have any of those answers, it did make me wonder what each measure of each day represents in that overall equation.
What does each micro-moment mean in the macro view?
This is most front of mind for me because I recently had a series of days that I wished wouldn’t end. Sun-kissed and laughter-filled. They were full of a new kind of joy for me.
I tried to recognize how rare these were in those moments. I tried to stay grounded in my life and appreciate those days as priceless jewels. They would fly by and I would try to mindfully reflect after that I was grateful that they happened, but also so happy to believe there would be more.
I came to that space really content with my life. I had found peace in daily rituals during our extended personal pandemic quarantine. I found new hobbies and learned to slow down and redefine the importance of being busy. I learned that maybe busy wasn’t the goal.
So when this period of joy began, I could root back into my life. I could be happy for it as an addition but recognizing it wasn’t replacing anything I may have been lacking. One I could appreciate just as it was.
As you probably saw coming, the moment my feet left the ground, the want for more overrode my ability to rationalize the now.
I abandoned my rituals. Not on purpose, but because I was basking in that sun. But like Icarus, when you fly too close, your wings burn. Especially those flimsy, homemade ones crafted from necessity and ingenuity. The ones you were so proud of on your first flight out.
And when those wings burn, the ground comes rushing up to meet your whole body with resounding force.
As I attempt now, in the after, to crawl back to my routines, patiently waiting just where I left them, I find I long for busy again. The pre-pandemic kind. And I recognize I long for that to distract. Because those 1440 minutes in a day that went so fast in those times of joy are going so slowly now.
The same amount of minutes seem to drag because I know only time will “heal”.
But then I recognize that those are the same amount of minutes as those bright days. And, like those, which I didn’t want to end but they did, these will too. This will pass.
And, as I struggle to get back on my feet, looking at the mess of feathers and debris from those melted wings, I can be grateful to zoom out and look at the macro view. Each day, each 1440 minutes, is a part of that 525,600 minutes that make up a year, and each year is a part of a life. They all have value.
I can rationalize that being busy won’t help anything other than to make it go by faster. But stay instead in the knowledge that each day is a gift. The ones on the way up and the subsequent days spent picking up things that may have tumbled to the ground.
So today, I’m going to measure my day in outside footprints and words written. In paint strokes and puppy/kid cuddles, for while it feels smaller than the big joy, I know that those little moments are fleeting too.
I am actively choosing for the little moments to be enough to add value to my days.
I’ve tucked those jewels — those beautiful happy big days — away, perhaps to be brought out later and smiled at when the pain recedes. Grateful for the kaleidoscope of colors within. A glimpse of another side of the person that I am. I will try to lean into the universe and trust that it wasn’t for naught and maybe I can find more joy like that with better balance.
I say that knowing that cultivating that balance is on me. That no perceived happiness is worth surrendering my little moments looking for more big ones.
That every single moment in every single day has value, even as they slip — wanted or unwanted — away.
““525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes — how do you measure, measure a year?
In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.
In 525,600 minutes — how do you measure a year…””
Photo by Christophe Van der waals on Unsplash
This post was originally published on Medium.
