Having too much, yet too little time
All the time in the world but not enough to do anything about it
She complains about having nothing but time on her hands these days. Yet not enough time left in her life to do anything about it. It’s a poignant contrast of perspectives for older people at a certain point in their life.
The woman, who’s in her early 70s, has lived in the same home for decades. She knows it like the back of her closets. She spends most of her day in the same easy chair staring at the same TV screen and through the same picture window. The sameness each day can be reassuring, and maddening.
She spends her time like teenagers spend money. With little context to its value. The difference is that she fully understands her time is running out. And she knows that all her money can’t buy her the lost time she now wants back from wasted expenditures.
These days, she’s mostly shopping for diversions from her boredom. Distractions such as TV shows, Facebook, doctor appointments, household chores, and online shopping websites. She gets more visits from Amazon Prime couriers than from her
own children.
Neighbors seem to have fences that don’t exist. Company is a rare treat. Loneliness waits outside her bedroom every morning, and it tucks her in every night. A clock on the wall ticks off each minute, each day, each year.
“I’m so damn bored,” she tells me.
I suggest for her to start a new hobby or read great literature or write her memoirs or try crossword puzzles or learn a foreign language. She stares at me as if I’m speaking Latin. I shrug in disappointment and suggest more ideas.
There are so many things the old woman could do with her time, I suggest. The conversation seems to always circle back to her time. How much she has, how much she doesn’t. Every new day is brimming with freshly delivered time, 24 full hours again and again. Some days, though, feel like a prison sentence to her, not an escape plan.
Food is one of her few reprieves. She looks forward to each meal no matter how tasty or bland. Each one breaks the monotony of the day. For a few minutes anyway. And then it’s back to the grindstone of dullness. You can set a clock to her daily routine. Time breeds boredom.
While talking with her in her home, I felt envious of all the time she possesses. Obviously I don’t feel the same about how little time she may have left to live. She believes she’ll die sooner than later. Not coincidentally, she believes in an afterlife more than ever before.
“I’m not afraid to die,” she tells me.
Her faith provides a comforting reconciliation between inevitable death and fleeting life. The promise of eternity offers endless time to do whatever she wants. She has no idea what heaven will bring except a desperately needed reunion with her departed love ones. She misses them more than anything. Likely more than anyone still alive in her world. This includes her own children who’ve disconnected themselves from her life.
“I don’t understand it,” she tells me.
Her disappointment of the past sabotages her hope for the future, whatever amount of future is left. It could be several more years. Possibly much shorter. She has health problems but they’re not life threatening. Her main issue is lack of mobility. Because of this she’s confined to her home mostly. And to her regrets.
She misses her old jobs, reminiscing about them as if they were old friends who left her, not the other way around. The daily grind doesn’t seem so troublesome when you look back from a life without duties, deadlines, and a clear-cut purpose. If anything, our jobs provide us with a false sense of significance. Instead of describing us, they too often define us. After retirement, we risk losing part of our identity.
“I loved dealing with people,” she tells me.
Time has a way of softening everything, including laborious jobs we once complained about. You know, the ones we had to drag ourselves to getting there every morning. The past without nostalgia is as common as an old clock without hands. Both don’t exist.
The old woman admits she has too much time to think about these things. Without a daily job, a husband, three kids, running endless errands, and taking care of her own mother before she died, there’s now plenty of time to ponder life’s unfairness. Or bad luck. Or questionable decisions. Or unexpected fate.
At this age of her life, she is convinced there’s not enough time to reverse her fate or curb her disappointment. She does her best to remain upbeat. She laughs easily. And often. She makes fun of herself without any hesitation. Humor gets her through tough times. And her predictable days.
“You gotta laugh,” she tells me.
I laughed with her about her dilemma because I didn’t know what else to say.
After talking with her, I wondered how many other people may be facing this conundrum. On one hand, they have too much time. On the other hand, not enough time. Maybe they too feel the weight of both with every tick and every tock.