My mind is spinning just like the fan above my head: tirelessly, noisily, infinitely. It continues in circles forever and I wonder if we are just doing the same thing. We circle to and from our jobs, our homes filled with things that will leave us when we die, places that will forget us as soon as we are gone. Time is continuously extending but our moment to exist in this universe is only fleeting.
To a butterfly we exist for centuries, yet to a tree whose roots extend hundreds of years into the dirt or to a river that has carved canyons, we are gone with the next sunset. We come and go with the start and end of each day, today melting into tomorrow.
With this in mind, I long to know: is it then just a matter of perspective? Is our perception of time or value or worth purely personal, or is there some greater purpose we have yet to grasp? Can I make this day just as important as any other?
These questions, these unrelenting inquiries, whir in my mind like the continuous hum of the fan. There is no off switch, no toggle to stop, just the continuous, unphasable force that is time.