Our perception of time and space while confined home

There are two concepts in both science and philosophy that are extremely important: Time and space. Each is shaped by our perceptions.

Consider time. When I first stayed in my home, I kept checking my watch to see how long it was until lunch. Hours seemed to drag and the more I worried about the time, the slower it seemed to pass. After all, time is relative to the observer.

But weeks later, time no longer seems to stretch for what seems forever, but now feels full, and passes quickly. Once I forgot about it and tried to do what interested me, like writing this column or reading books I had neglected or even sat outside soaking up the sun rays, time seemed to pass without my being aware of its passing.

I also learned to “waste time,” something I would have not done before. Of course, “wasting time” meant not planning to fill every moment as if some task I had to accomplish. Hours passed when I was not aware of their passing. Sitting in the backyard listening to the birds or watching the squirrels chase each other, I suddenly realized I been there for over an hour. The wasted hours were full. I had been on empty running around to fill the day with my own plans. Sometimes it is just as important to let go of what once seemed important and listen to the birds singing or tree leaves rustling in the wind, or the clouds forming patterns in the sky.

Then when it comes to space issues, my home now seems much larger than it once did. I am not cooped in one room but have the run of the house while my wife is away working. During the day, my cats hide or sleep, so it feels like a black hole in the universe which has little time nor space. It does feel empty and quiet.

But I have discovered a new way of looking at things after being housebound for weeks. I am more aware of those things I have always had but not always cherished as I should have — a few good friends to speak with by phone or Zoom, a wife and family, a few good books and magazines to read, music to hear or play, a backyard to sit in when the weather turns warm and sunny, and even three cats (I admit being a dog person).

One book I read years ago in graduate school but read again the last few weeks is Albert Camus’ “The Plague.” It was written in 1947 about a plague in North Africa. I know it may sound morbid to read a book such as this one, but I did so. It amazed me to find what he describes in the book follows much of what we seem to be experiencing these days — the fear of catching a horrendous disease, the anxiety which fills our lives, the lies we are fed by leaders who want to make us feel better, and the debates over who started the plague.

I don’t know how I expected the plague to lift in Camus’ book, but it ended in a way I wouldn’t have predicted — the plague simply left, and no one really knew why, but they also realized it might return. The narrator of the story, the doctor who treated others, said he learned that “love, exile, and suffering” are the common human lot but also “there are more things to admire in men than to despise.”

I am learning the same lesson as the doctor — to admire the health care and first responders who go about doing their jobs to help others, the postal workers and others who keep the mail and packages coming to my house, the grocery and store workers who provide help when needed, the pharmacists and drug store clerks who keep working, the political leaders who tell the truth but give comfort and hope, and the many others who wear masks and gloves and wash their hands more often than usual, not just to save themselves but us.