Time

The ultimate luxury?

If you live in the UK, you lost an hour early on Sunday morning, when the clocks sprang forward to British Summer Time (BST). If you ever needed proof that time is a relative concept, you’ve got it right there.

Considering that we collectively spend an extraordinary amount of time, money and effort trying to outpace time – we want to look younger, live longer, cram more into our days, stretch out our weekends and holidays – we’re remarkably matter-of-fact about this bi-annual change to the way we measure it. Yes, there are petitions to scrap the time switch, particularly by health and safety experts, who cite evidence that the clock changes disrupt circadian rhythms and increase the risk of heart attack, stroke and mental health issues, not to mention workplace injuries and road accidents – particularly when we lose an hour’s sleep as the clocks go forward in spring. However, the Government has no plans to change the system, claiming that it optimises the available daylight available across the UK – a particular issue in Scotland, which would have 10am sunrises during the winter months if BST was made permanent.

I can vividly – painfully – remember the total sleep carnage caused by the clocks changing when my daughter was little. The chaos would start in advance, no doubt influenced by natural light. Regardless of whether the clocks went forward or back, I would always have to endure a week or two of 4am wake-ups, leaving me feeling jet-lagged and irritable until she adjusted.

That same little girl turns 20 in a few days, and those childhood days and nights simultaneously feel like a lifetime ago and as if they only just happened. I remember people – usually strangers – saying to me that the time would fly by, and she’d be all grown up before I knew it. I used to smile through gritted teeth, rubbing my sleep-deprived eyes, struggling to remember the last time I slept for more than three hours straight, eager to jump forward in time to a point in the future where it all felt easier and I knew what I was doing. Of course, I now know that that day doesn’t exist. Or, if it does, I’m not there yet.

Other people would tell me ‘the days are long but the years are short’ which is, I suppose, closer to the truth. I endured a decade of 5am starts, and navigated the pre-school years without any childcare, working during the evenings and at weekends. So yes, the days were long – really long. But somehow, I managed to write and edit an entire book during her daily nap times – and it only took me two or three months. I was determined to find the time; somehow I managed it.

And the years have indeed flown by. From the first day of school to the last. From the first time she went to the corner shop by herself, to the last hug before I left her at university. From her 1st birthday party to clinking glasses on her 18th. From watching In the Night Garden on repeat to comparing Dr Carter on ER with Dr Robby from The Pitt.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years… gone in the blink of an eye.

Yet I remember it all. How it happened, how it felt – the good, the bad and the scary. Those seemingly-endless days we spent together, hanging out in the park, reading the same books, attempting the messy crafting activities that called on reserves of patience I didn’t know I possessed. I suspect there is still some kinetic sand embedded in the cracks between my floorboards. Mostly I remember how happy I was. I remember laughing a lot, and wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her hair when she got into bed with me every night and proceeded to kick me repeatedly for the next six hours. But I also remember crying on the stairs because I was so, so tired and didn’t have enough time to meet my deadlines.

It was a long time ago, and no time at all. And I wouldn’t change a minute. Well, apart from the kinetic sand incident. And maybe that time she fell out of the patio doors on the day we moved house. And obviously the day she broke her arm on the monkey bars.

Of course, that’s not an option. I can’t go back, I can’t change time. And that’s a fact that most of us struggle with, so we do our absolute best to wrestle control of it – I know I do.

Because time dictates how we look, how we feel and what we do. So the freedom to choose what we do with it, not to mention the opportunity to have more of it, has become the ultimate luxury.