Quaran-time, Why You Punish Me?
I remember lying in my dorm room in the early 1990s listening and singing along to Time by Hootie and the Blowfish. It was a different age, and I was a different person — less sophisticated and much less experienced, more optimistic, and full of vigor. The song had a catchy tune, was easy to sing, and who didn’t enjoy the velvety smooth baritone of Darius Rucker? My roommates and I would belt out the verses without a care in the world — no stress, no real responsibility, and all the time in the world (so we thought). The lesson of the lyrics completely lost on us. I recently listened to it again with my children, and as the nostalgia washed over me, the words lingered long after the track ended, especially the final line.
Time why you punish me …
Einstein taught the world that time is relative. But beyond concepts of quantum physics, the relativity of time and our relationship with it has changed over the last several weeks. The writer John O’Donohue once said: “Stress is a perverted relationship to time.” And oh, how stressed we are!
Even before COVID-19 quaran-time, my relationship with time has always been complicated. When I was young (and foolish), time was abundant.
Remember how long summer felt between the fourth and fifth grade? School would start in the fall, and I would find it hard to write with a pencil for the first few days. It was only later in life that I would learn that “muscle memory” for most tasks quickly falls off when the body and mind become idle.
As the years passed, I went from daydreaming in the backseat of my parent’s car to sitting behind the steering wheel with a crying baby in a car seat behind me. Time became scarcer. Work deadlines. Family responsibilities. Social commitments. Bills. So much to do and so little time. Like many type-A professionals, I would search for life hacks — tricks and tools to save time — hire lawn care and cleaning services, use dry cleaning, optimize IFTTT to reduce the number of clicks.
Everything was measured using the calculus of opportunity cost. Spend money to save time. Now, all that effort seems downright silly.
“Now” is the sliver of space-time between “not yet” and “no more”. In January of this year, “now” was fleeting and never long enough. But today, in a world frozen by an invisible enemy with empty streets, schools, and malls, “now” seems to last forever. When will this end? This week? Next month? July?! Weekdays have blurred into weekends, and deadlines no longer exist.
Time is abundant once again. And this surplus of time has led to changes in the way we see “menial” tasks. Doing laundry, vacuuming, and cooking provides some purpose. Grocery stores cannot seem to stock flour and yeast fast enough because making bread has become an ‘in’ thing. Why now and not before? Because making bread takes patience and time. And beyond being a time-filler, the process of making bread and other household tasks can be freeing and unifying. We come together to pull weeds or clean out the garage and, in the process, reconnect with our spouses and children. Virtually, or in-person (but six feet apart), we reach out to siblings, parents, uncles and aunts, long-lost cousins, and old college buddies. We celebrate birthdays and graduations on Zoom.
We go for long meandering walks without any particular place to go. Through these interactions, in many ways, thrust upon us by fate, we replace some of what we’ve lost with human connection. Though different than how we filled our lives pre COVID-19, these interactions fill us with warmth, love, and hope.
We may even be re-calibrating our list of needs and wants. As my life becomes distilled to the basics of what I truly need — food, faith, family, shelter, health — I realize how insignificant and irrelevant my prior problems were. “Oh no! My SkyMiles are expiring!” or “I hate rush hour traffic!” seem like the ravings of a madman now.
In addition to reconnecting with those I care about, I have become more comfortable with myself. We spend so much of our time and attention on things to do — work, shop, play, entertain — that we forget to just be.
Mathematician and physicist Pascal once said: “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” Expanded time has created a stillness and silence in which I can reflect, introspect, and take stock of life and purpose. The subsequent clarity has filled me with a greater sense of self-worth and, most importantly, rekindled faith and spiritual connection. While the world is upside down, this reinforced faith has been foundational for my family and me. It doesn’t just keep me standing, but it propels me forward, filled with hope, courage, and strength.
At the beginning of the pandemic, my Guru His Holiness Mahant Swami Maharaj prayed for the safety and well-being of all and also said something that didn’t quite make sense to me at the time: “This crisis is an opportunity.” But now, flush with time and without the din of life’s distractions, the opportunity quaran-time offers is becoming more apparent. In the pause, I have reconnected with those I love, with myself, and with my faith in a deeper, more meaningful way. I have found strength and gratitude that I hope will persist once the world returns to a semblance of normal.
By the way, my garage has never been cleaner.
Dr. Kashyap Patel, Cardiologist, Atlanta, GA
