I’m noticing more and more lately how different time can move in different places.
lying awake in my bed at 1 AM is slower than 1 AM at a concert or in the bar on Smith Street. what is it people say, time flies when … .
and time seems to move super slowly when I’m waiting in line at a supermarket (no fun), or the DMV (even less fun), or someplace else where I feel bored or anxious. I don’t know about you, but I always seem to be standing in the wrong queue. at least it feels that way.
when I don’t look at my phone constantly, time seems to go away. when I ask the time, or glance continuously at the Information Booth Clock in Grand Central, I get the sense of the time, of people and places left to go, time passing slowly and then, in an instant, something ending and something new beginning.
when a pushy salesperson or marketer takes your time, they’re stealing. when a selfish person wastes your time, you can’t ever get it back.
when my mom asks me to run down to the bodega to pick up ingredients for us to prepare a delicious, homemade patatas bravas and chorizo salad, and I convince her that it would be more convenient to just order take out, what have I done with the time I just saved? when I’m stealing from one part of my life in order to make another part work, I am going to pay for it.
I want to get better and better at guitar and piano, at singing and writing. I read somewhere that you need to do something for 10,000 hours to be truly great. but you’ll never get there if you try to do the 10,000 hours all at once and burn out too fast. and in the process you’ll neglect other things and people you love.
what precisely is time for?
when I take my own time to make music, it’s a gift. when I take my own time to be present, like at group, and give myself over to what’s in front of me right now, it’s a gift.
isn’t this what time, that endless whirring, is for.
cookie nieves 
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