Borrowed Time

For the past fifteen years I have relished the extra hour that came with the loss of daylight. I have spent this hour sleeping in, taking a nap, or gazing softly out the window (for sixteen seconds until I was overcome by The Sleep).

Since my retirement eleven months ago, I've slowly but surely caught up on sleep. I've learned to nap without regret, to sleep later, and even to go to bed earlier. Sure, I still pass out on the couch or the patio occasionally, but I'm no longer compelled to lie down wherever I happen to be (the floor of the airport, the backseat of my car, the line for Space Mountain).

So this year I will use my extra hour for good. I will (try to) transition myself to an earlier schedule, enabling myself to explore the world of early breakfast appointments and the fabled 7 o'clock hour.

I have this vision of waking before the sun, taking my time to get ready, reading or practicing yoga before I leave in the morning. I've heard of people who go to the gym, come home, shower, and eat a full breakfast before going to work. Some people wake up without alarms. I do not know how this works, physiologically.

This sacred hour that we are about to receive is a cosmic gift. We are about to travel through time simply because we agree that time travel is normal, possible, and expected. We may be more hesitant in six months when we travel back, but for now we are all on board.

It is so strange to me that we can argue on concrete issues like foreign policy, reproductive rights, human goodness, and the errs of our leaders and so quickly agree to take a leap of faith and relive an hour of our lives, or jump full-speed into the future. Perhaps we disagree, argue, and even fight because we know that once an idea becomes law, it quickly becomes the norm, accepted by everyone.

Adopted without question.

Even when it defies the laws of basic physics.

Be careful this weekend, dear friend. Use your hour and your vote like both are borrowed from the future.