Time Terrors and Candy Shop Capers

Embracing the absurdity of life’s Tick-Tock.

Adelina Vasile

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Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Let’s play a game where I tell you what to picture.

You wake up in the dead of night, not a clue about the time. Ah, the blissful ignorance.

You roll over and drift back to dreamland, completely unaware that the alarm is just 40 minutes away. No worries, no cares.

And when that blasted alarm finally does blare, you rise with the grace of a well-rested angel as if you hadn’t been tossing and turning a mere 40 minutes earlier.

Now, let’s flip the script for a bit.

This time, instead of blissful ignorance, you get a glimpse of the clock.

Oh boy, you’re panicking. Your blood starts pumping, anxiety takes hold, and you frantically calculate how little time remains for precious shut-eye.

Sound familiar? Isn’t that just how most of us stumble through nights?

Sorry, I meant through life.

When we don’t know the minutes ticking away, we’re calm as can be. But it should be the complete opposite, shouldn’t it?

Why must we experience life’s tragic blows to change how we live, how we seize the day, and to stop putting off the things we know we should be doing?

I propose a solution: Live each day as if you don’t have much time left. Sounds a bit morose, I know, but bear with me.

One bittersweet April, when nature was coming back to life, my dear father-in-law learned he had cancer. He never made it to the following April. He never truly knew how much time he had left, yet he clung to hope until the bitter end. Sadly, hope was not enough. Nature wasn’t coming back to life for him.

So, why should I assume I have more time than he did? And why should you? It may seem gloomy, but only if you let it. Embrace the notion of living as if tomorrow is just a chance. Because it is.

How come we don’t feel tomorrow for what it really is? Are we far too complacent, comfortably ensconced in the false certainty that the sun will rise again for us.

I have one more script for you.

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Adelina Vasile

Mother, educator, journalist, copywriter. I write about the things I need to learn myself.