Acouple of months ago, I started to get bothered by the concept of time. You see, I am a late bloomer when it comes down to it. Most kids have their existential crisis in their late teens: black clothing and dark, angry music, questions of space and time and a predilection for rebellion and smoking cigarettes. Oh no, not me. I had to wait for this teenage angst to arrive in my early 20s. But I'm okay with it. The funny thing is the concept of mortality doesn't bother me so much -- well, probably not as much as it should. It is the whole passing of time in the everyday that really does my head in. This consists of worrying about how one moment folds into the next, how nothing exists but the moment and how every human action is somewhat ephemeral.
If you're still reading at this point, please stick with me. I know that most dealt with this at a younger age. After scratching my head awhile, I guess I can sum this feeling up as everything that is said and done turns to dust. Sure, the "psychologists-in-training" out there could probably have a field day with this one. An almost too easy target. My unease over the passing of time could probably be tied in with general social anxiety, my apprehension over the future, a subconscious distress with the state of the modern world and perhaps even my relationship with my mother.
Other segments of society may even offer their specific advice. A Catholic priest might tell me this feeling is a warning sign about the state of my soul and the necessity of making good with a higher power. A Buddhist could inform me that I have to let go of the material world and accept that all life is suffering. A professor may subtly hint that I need to sit down and finish those term papers. What do I do? I go out on to the Lawn and wait for a breeze. What else is one to do? The sun is good this time of year and the green around Grounds is spectacular. The scenery that surrounds us looks like it was plucked from a movie set wish list. There is a moment to have right now and infinite moments to waste. The great thing about worrying about the passing of time is that there comes a moment when you realize there is not a thing that you can do about it. You let go.
Don't get me wrong -- there were a dozen other questions pertaining to my worries. What is there to remember at the end of the day? How does the brain do that? Why do we remember certain events over others? How can the mind capture it all? This is when psychological projection comes in handy. Thank you, Mr. Freud. I search out anyone else in state of transition and transfer my anxiety onto them. It's not difficult to find them. I like asking the fourth years about their plans for the coming year. A lot of the time they squirm. I like the fear and the excitement. Sometimes I even latch on to it and make it my own, but that soon grows old. Amongst those graduating, there are plans to travel and plans to work and a general sadness about leaving Charlottesville. There is change and anxiety about the future. Often, there is happiness about moving on. And for me it is a time of closing up shop, too. Living in the United States has been the most engaging period of my life. My eyes have been opened to opportunities at home and abroad.
Most importantly, I have met some incredible people. On Tuesday I went and spoke to one of my favorite professors from the last year. It was a nice way to wrap things up. His name is John Casey and amongst other things (knowledge of boats and sailing, a spectacular memory and a penchant for rambling family histories) he is one of America's finest writers. In lieu of doing all the things I am supposed to be doing at the end of semester, I started reading a novel of his called "Spartina." Even if you are not an English buff, I recommend it to you all. Two of the last lines of the novel go like this: "He could forget everything he'd thought here, this night, in the middle of his life. Let it ebb, and it would flow back." Good Lord, there really is some advice for all of us. We are not in the middle of our lives, but change is certainly in the air. Like it or not, there is not much you can do about it.
Winston Churchill once said something about there being an end to the beginning. I like that idea. The end to the beginning for many of us could be marked as college. Final exams are looming. There is a time to say goodbye to all that is known. The scary part is that it seems to have gone too fast. It is a question of memory, really. As one gets older, time seems to compress itself into little bits. And those little bits get increasingly easier to consume. In a few years, the passing of a few years will feel like a handclap. Here too briefly and gone too soon. Is there a happy ending to this story? No, not really. But we can be grateful for that. Nothing slows down. Time rolls on and over itself. We move out from the Grounds to suddenly find that yesterday is nowhere but in the memory.
Chris Garland is an exchange student from New Zealand. This is Chris's last column for The Cavalier Daily.
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