On The Beauty Of Broken Time

On top of my bookcase I have three watches sitting on their display stands. The hands of each watch read 5:41.

            

It’s 10:33.

While I was in Spain all three of these watches drained their batteries. At first I simply added “watch batteries” to my to-do list … and then I wore one. I strapped the wristband on and left the house with a watch that was only accurate twice daily.

            

I’ve been home for over two months now, and the watches still have dead batteries. After wearing them for a while I was enlightened to their ironic beauty. They are a reminder that humanity takes time, a construct of our own minds, much too seriously. They remind me to not worry about the days slipping by. I’m growing old, but it has less to do with mechanical gears ticking in circles and more to do with the summer sun kissing my skin and the wind from the sea whispering, sometimes roaring, its love to me. The wrinkles on my face aren't from the spinning hands of clocks, but rather from deep, belly-aching laughter and honest smiles and sharp tears.

            

It’s a reminder to stop thinking about there and start focusing on here. There is only here, and there is only now.

            

A broken watch means you can stop time and live in this moment forever. It reminds you that this is the only moment that exists. There is no future. There is no past. Now is all that exists. There is only today.

           

            

The only moment in eternity is this one.