“Good morning!” greeted the young man practicing his golf swing on his front lawn.
I appreciated his pleasant gesture; however, what caused me to pause from my walk and ponder was what he said next: “Although, I’m not sure what time or day it is.”
Among the plethora of radical changes the coronavirus has orchestrated in our lives and livelihoods is our perception of time, now undergoing a major shift from a mandated servitude to clocks and calendars to becoming a surreal surrender to time manifesting itself as an eternal, undifferentiated now.
Borrowing Siddhartha’s revelation about time, whereby time is like a river ever present simultaneously in its source, its flow, and ultimately its egress into the sea, so too are we now gently being carried in the current of time untethered to our own artificial chronologic algorithms and constraints.
Coronavirus has stripped the sequential veneer from time and, in its place, thrust us into living as witnesses to a different reality, what some call simultaneous time. Past, present and future meld into an amorphous, all-embracing now.
I sensed the man’s comment revealed some angst about being confused, akin to being a fish out of water or a square peg in a round hole.
At that moment, the lyrics of a Chicago tune popped into my head: “Does anybody really know what time it is, does anybody really care?”