Salvaging precious time

My grandfather, of blessed memory, would constantly urge me to take advantage of my time, not to waste it. “The time goes,” he said, “and it never comes back.” In all fairness, this is what I remember him saying. I can’t recall when he started saying it, and I don’t remember all the things he said; but this stuck with me. And it was very meaningful coming from him. His was an image of someone involved in one thing or another; reciting his Tehillim, typing on his typewriter, changing light bulbs, bookkeeping, etc. It was noteworthy even to observe the way he would ‘watch’ television. If there was a football game on- inexplicably, my grandfather was something of a Michigan Wolverines fan- he would pause when passing the screen, but he would never sit down.

Despite the abundant evidence in his personal example, I always found it convenient to interpret his advice in the most general way. A teenager and young adult can appreciate only so much of what his aging grandfather means. As much as I admired, revered, and appreciated him- I heard his words with the prejudice that he was speaking as a retiree and with an urgency that simply didn’t apply to me. Don’t waste years, he was saying. Of course, in retrospect, I presume he meant more.

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The powerful and sobering thought struck me as I was engrossed in wasting time and feeling quite guilty about doing so. What if Gd were to tell me that He will shorten my life so long as I continue to dawdle? If He would take an hour, half an hour, five minutes or less for every hour, etc., that I spent aimlessly surfing the Internet or doing any of a number of other meaningless, useless, or even destructive tasks, would I continue?

I must have considered it quite a forceful notion, because I stopped straightaway. I don’t have any good reason to presume that Gd governs His world in such a manner, and, presumably, divine justice is much more complicated than that. But the mere possibility was compelling enough. Surely extra moments of my life were far more valuable than, well, the pursuit of nothing.

What was so terrible in the concern that I could lose five minutes? If my best hope for five minutes of my own time was that they would be wasted, that they could not be profoundly meaningful in the best of circumstances, then losing five minutes would not be a big deal. I never like to have anything taken away from me, even more so when it comes to moments of my life. I would like to think- I have to think- that those five minutes are invaluable.

There’s a postscript to my little epiphany story. Before I could get up, it really hit me. What if Gd wouldn’t take away portions of my life, because he didn’t need to? In a very real sense, I was already taking the time off my life all by myself. By investing my time in emptiness, I was already actively engaged in shortening my life.