Musings & Trifles

Time is a silly, make-believe concept. The idea that every day has the same number of hours is ridiculous. As you read this, I can sense that you’re nodding along with me. You get it. But if you don’t, don’t worry, I can prove it. In fact, the “theory” of time is easily disproven. 

Try this experiment: 

Spend the day doing something you despise, I mean really hate with every fiber of your being. You know, like washing the cat or following your kids around with a Dust Buster and a carton of antibacterial wipes while they entertain a dozen of their closest preschool pals. 

Now spend the next day doing something you love. Read a book in the quiet solitude of a school day. Work in your garden. Practice yoga or tai chi. Or binge that show everyone is talking about (not that one, the other one).

Now you tell me that the day you did something you dislike and the day filled with something you love were the exact same length. You can’t. Because they weren’t. 

Time moves incrementally faster for every second you spend enjoying yourself and grinds to a snail’s pace when you’re stuck on something you don’t want to do. What’s more, it also speeds up as you age and with every kid you raise.

I was reminded of this phenomenon recently when I went back to a full-time job after a year of book writing, freelance and ride share driving. I loved being able to get my kids off to school in the morning. We had our routine down to a science. They’d get everything done, and we’d watch 30-minutes of a TV show. It was great bonding time. Then they would go off to school, and I’d sit down to write.

Before I knew it, I’d look up and they were back. It was like a storm blew through the house every afternoon, taking all my free time and ability to concentrate with it. And now, as I readjust to corporate life, I find that my days are slowing down. I’m not bored. Definitely not. But it’s a different kind of day. A different pace. It’s enough to give you whiplash!

I don’t care what the physicists say. Our days — heck, our lives — are one long series of time warps. Time is not on your side, my friend. It keeps on ticking ticking ticking not into the future but into oblivion. Deal with it.

I read “A Prayer for Owen Meany” at least once a year. It’s so brilliant that at first I didn’t understand why I loved it. It’s the first book I can remember reading in which all of the characters, especially the protagonist, are flawed. The story of fate and goodness and innocence never surrendered even in the face of the harsh realities of an unforgiving world always makes me contemplate how little we really know about why we do what we do. It’s a complicated, inspiring story.

And no matter what your politics or beliefs, “The Cider House Rules” should be required reading for anyone who wants a reminder of the gritty reality of life before abortion was legal. Talk about imperfect but inspiring characters. “Goodnight you Princes of Maine, you Kings of New England!” is not just a bedtime sendoff but a rallying cry and a reminder that even an unwanted orphan can rise from his circumstances.

“The World According to Garp” opened my young eyes to the differences that divide us even though they shouldn’t. I wish, and I believe Irving does as well, that the fear, hatred, and bigotry his characters faced in the 70s were in our past. Instead, they endure today. That makes his characters and his writing even more important.

These are just three of Irving’s novels. All of his books, though, share his openness to exploring the darker side of humanity, the weirder tendencies, and fringe ideas that make us such a fascinating species.

Though I don’t write literary fiction and would never be so bold as to expect to ever be compared to the great John Irving, I do hope to bring a sense of literary purpose to my works. Themes as well as thrills. Reality soaked fiction where nobody is pure evil or perfectly good. Because my heroes, fictional and real, have never been perfect.