Everyone wants to spend their time, but waste yours. The commodity of our generation, using a concept that has only been measurable for a fraction of our existence, is a selfish one.
And that is potentially why so many of us are suffering, even when it seems like we’re thriving. We constantly gauge our feats, our accomplishments, the people we can captivate, by what and whom we fill our time with, by how much we can force into an interval between nightly comas. By whose time we waste in order to capture their adoration for how we’ve spent ours. Maybe I’m trying to waste yours.
Is that the legacy we will leave? Everyone will be remembered as a time thief?
The cliche is maybe as old as, if not older than, time itself. But as a war photographer turned cinematographer turned poet told me last night, the reason to write is to capture not a moment in time, but to receive the present itself.
The Present is a Gift, the Past is a Rock, the Future is a Memory.
