How Do You Relate to Time?
Time is a strange, amorphous entity. It's only quantifiable arbitrarily, it seems. At its most basic, time is simply the number of times a mechanism repeats itself. To wit, we say an hour has passed because the second hand moved forward 3,600 paces.
There is the notion of open and closed time. The former is ongoing. As we live and breathe, we exist in open time. The present is so ephemeral; it's hardly a nanosecond long. We go through open time without really thinking about it. Time becomes closed when we apply language to it. Think of your most recent outing with friends. That has passed, but it exists in open time. Once you talk about that time, you close it off. It becomes a sort of bubble. Life is a constant repetition of open and closed time. We experience time, and we talk about it.
With that in mind, when do you actually acknowledge time? What I'm talking about is slightly different than the paragraph above which is a rough summary of the philosopher Walter Benjamin's work. I find that this most often happens to me on the train. Perhaps the stop-go-stop-go of the train helps. In the briefest moment, I become aware of time, so to speak. Any thought is pushed to the back of my head. My music is playing, but it seems to fade. It's almost extrasensory. The notion of time as a gate through which we are constantly passing immediately comes to the forefront of my thoughts. It's strange, but the train is where I typically experience this.
After that, I put on some Pink Floyd.