I’ve never liked being friends with “Time.” “Time” isn’t my enemy nor is it my neighbor. We’ve never looked into each others eyes with the idea of the final presentation being anything more than a selfish plan. Basically meaning we’re like two spoiled rotten brothers one step from screaming, “Mom!”
What makes me disgruntled isn’t that “Time” doesn’t have a face. “Time” always seems to be in a race; constantly refusing to let me catch up.
And then it occurred to me…boredom. Good old fashioned in your face really super long with no break in the middle boredom. The kind of stuff that hurts so bad that your guts feel like they’re being ripped out; if only you could hit the mall, a hardware store, go bowling or pick up a game of air hockey at some cheap hole in the wall arcade…boredom.
“Time” can’t stand boredom.
Look around you…rarely do you catch someone standing still unless it’s a boss creatively coming up with new ways to score more energy from your source. Dad used to bop me on the head while shouting, “Stop moving!” At 48…I get it. He knew before I did how important boredom was and still is in the department of learning how to turn 2010 into a 365 day year that feels like a decade.
If you haven’t done it already you will. You’re introduced to a moment in the mirror when the curves in your eyes no longer resemble the vigorous self you once held. Your pace through the mall isn’t locked on window shopping it feel more like get it done. Your dog, cat, gold fish Kevin and bird named Riverboat tend to lean and the thought of crashing into a pile of dried leaves has turned into a maybe tomorrow type attitude. Then without notice your heart shatters the moment your brain types into it’s built in computer system, “You’re getting old.” So you ask, “Where did the time go?”
Life isn’t supposed to feel like an episode of The Waltons.
Boredom gives you time to breathe. Cell phone conversations give permission to “Time” to move you through 5 o’clock traffic. Motown’s greatest hits put you in the past that “Time” uses to shove your booty through the needles eye. Taking the time to download the lyrics and studying the poetic edge Smokey Robinson shared with the world slows “Time” down.
Dr. Ronald Mack from Wake Forest University demanded that I stop painting on a canvas and learn more about those who’ve pushed a brush into the pages of history. Then he shoved my nose into other books called On Writing Well and the autobiography of Truman. As he aged all too quickly he could see the same in me and did all he could as a doctor to teach me how to slow down “Time.”
Boredom…
This isn’t a legal license to flop down on the sofa or stop raking leaves in the backyard. A creek lazily strolls through a forest floor collecting only what it can handle. Then one day it rains, its banks swell, twigs are tossed, bugs begin to surf, meandering becomes a flooded afterthought. Once the rain stops, the slow moving out of the way creek returns to being simple and low key, so slow a slithering snake stops by, kisses a bubble made by the plunk of a rock a kid ten feet up the stream tossed in. The snake laughs at his reflection then takes his happy mood back to the other slithering things that make humans totally freak.
Understanding boredom is the key to locating enough space to stop the race. That and a brave poet with a pen that isn’t afraid to admit, “You aren’t getting “Time” back. Even if you're reincarnated…it’s never the same life twice.”
arroecollins@clearchannel.com
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