Got a Moment?

You do.

You most likely wouldn’t give it a thought. Unless. Unless I caught you dashing out the door because your dog was running toward the street. Or you were on the phone—talking, out loud, on your phone—or had half a dozen incoming work-related text messages.

“Hey, got a second?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

I remember how much I enjoyed my countdown to retirement. Set up the app and from time to time checked in and voila, readings like 4 months 2 days 23 minutes 17 seconds.  Seconds. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand.

Let’s see. How about until Social Security payments begin. Nearly 99 million seconds. Spare a second? Absolutely. One one-thousand.

I several times joked that I not die as I was grading high school English papers. Red pen in hand, face plant onto essay. No, please let my last moment be sitting out back in the garden while sipping on a scotch. Or watching a baby bluebird make its first flight. Or maybe go out in my reading chair, book fallen to the floor.

“Got a minute?”

“Let me check.” Uh-huh, around 1.6 million minutes until SS kicks in.

I’ve got a minute to stop during the morning walk with my dog Max and watch a hawk slide by overhead.  I’ve got a minute to turn from my truck and walk over to the roses out front and see if they are still beetle-free.

A moment, a few seconds, a couple of minutes. No big deal.

Nearly 50 days to my next birthday in August. Now a day, a whole day, that is something to consider. When do you spend a whole day on something or with someone?

But that’s over 52,000 minutes. “Well, sure. I can stop by and take a look at that tree for you. Only take a few minutes.”

Mortality tables predict another 604,000,000 seconds for me.

“Hold on a second.”

There they are, seconds we can imagine set out like dominoes to be tipped over—tick tick tick.

“Hey, give me a second.”

My friend, it is not mine to hand out. They just go—away. Gone.

At a busy restaurant, if we were to hear: The wait is about 3,600 seconds. One one-thousand, two one-thousand.

Class of 2020 graduation: 3.65 million minutes or thereabout. “Meet for coffee?” What’s 20 minutes?

I brush my plants with my fingers as I walk by. I reach out and tap the trees. I look up and assess the sky—color, clarity, brightness. Where the sun is, where the shadows are falling. If the colors are compelling, I hold for a handful of seconds before getting in the truck. A long look at a sunset before crumbling into the final heap? Well, that would be a good final moment.

“Got a moment?”

Maybe so.

But the 1,893,456,003 seconds gone since my birth. Just that, gone. One-one thousand, two one-thousand….

May I reintroduce the word savor into your life?

This post may take more than 150 seconds to read.

I’m sorry.