When time disappears

When I left New Hampshire, one of my students gave me a small clock, the case made of wood, resembling the shape of the state, the clock itself no larger than a watch. It stands on the windowsill by my desk, and has become the time keeper of my work. I like it, because it is silent and small, not overly intrusive, but present for a quick glance when I teach or practice. I’m always concerned whether there is enough time left to do everything that needs to be done.

The other day I came home and found that the clock had stopped, probably in need of a new battery.

There was no need to do anything about it during the vacation week. I got used to it and I almost liked it better that way:

• allowing time to stretch out without keeping track
• allowing myself to get absorbed in a task and keep going until I feel that I’m done for now
• allowing a task to develop at its own pace and in its own time

In fact, it’s one of the greatest luxuries I can imagine. Tomorrow, I start teaching again. I wasn’t too disappointed when I found the store already closed where I wanted to get the battery changed today. It will make it easier to preserve some of that feeling of letting time pass without measuring it.