Time is a funny thing. We’ve measured out 365 days in a year, 24 hours in a day, 60 minutes in an hour, and 60 seconds in a minute. Time, as we measure it is objective.
But time as we experience it is anything but objective. Minutes, hours, days, and even years fly by or stretch out seemingly unending. The times we most want to hold on to slip through our fingers like sand. And stretched time is often filled with anticipation, fear, or despair.
Yet if we measure those seconds, minutes, and hours, we find they don’t total up to what we think they should.
How can time be so subjective? How can it be discretely measured and yet so fluid simultaneously?
I think there’s a beauty in this kind of paradox. Different ways of seeing things and dimensions of how we perceive them. For me, these paradoxes touch on the heart and soul of what the thing presenting the paradox is.
Time is a perfect example. We can, and do, quantify it. Yet it often seems to contradict the set quantification we give it. We know time, yet we don’t. To me, that’s the beauty of it. We don’t know, and we don’t know just what we don’t know.