I was enjoying a cappuccino at a local coffee house this morning when a title in the Wall Street Journal caught my eye: “The Tyranny of the Clock.”
In thinking about why I was drawn to this article, I can pick from multiple reasons:
1) The article gave me refuge and distraction from the screaming coffee grinder— torturing innocent beans more than grinding them.
2) The article gave me distance from the last article about my tax dollars helping research how Methamphetamine enhances the motivation of female rat’s sexual behavior— no doubt, a burning issue for you too.
3) The article title held the promise of some guilt relief.
Let me explain why I choose door number three. It’s because I’m pretty consistently running three quarts low on assurance that I’m spending my time—my day, my week, my life—as wisely as I could.
I’m a person who packs around a low-grade guilt that occasionally makes it way to the surface like undigested cucumbers. The other night was one of those times.
After losing the debate on whether to read or watch TV, I was settling in for an episode of Law and Order, only to be upended by one cops remark to her partner, “We do this because we want to make a difference!”
Dang! I hadn’t even gotten to the Order part and was sent on a journey to the center of my weirdness and guilt, setting off a reflux of questions: Am I making a difference? Do I really need to be watching TV right now? Are my days counting for something?
And then finally, will someday there be a memorial service for me with the chief accolade: “Tom…well let’s see…hmmm…he had a high bowling score and he loved Law and Order?”
Do you ever feel this way or am I the worst neurotic about these kinds of things that I know?
Well, back to the article. Bill Kauffman reviewing Howard Mansfield’s new tome Turn and Jump calls Mansfield “a critic of the rushed life.”
Concluding his appraisal, Kauffman caps off the review with a vivid quote from the author: “Time collapses in an old graveyard.”
Then commenting on this—our book reviewer does a bit of good writing himself with head-clearing words: “All of us—whether our wrists are encircled by a Timex, a Rolex or a hospital ID—will learn this soon enough.”
Alas, there was no help here that I couldn’t find in Psalm 90:12. But I wonder if this uneasiness about clock wasting isn’t a God thing? Could these unsettling episodes be yet another of His reminders to do the math—subtraction mostly—and gain a heart of wisdom that life is short so spend it carefully?









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