Reflections on time, on the last day of the decade

Since having Ruben, I’ve realised I know absolutely nothing about time. So it’s 31 December 2019, the last day of the decade. A human-made construction, this linear idea we have of year falling after year. We break time into discrete chunks; the months, years, decades that make up a life.

 Something about having a child has blown my concept of time to smithereens. Maybe it’s seeing grandparents and great-grandparents, who’ve long ago passed away, repeated again in a smile or a look. Maybe it’s the long stretches of time at home, out of the bustle of the corporate world. Time spent doing hundreds of things, nothing too specific, but they’ve all helped grow a baby from zero to 7 months old.

 As Ruben goes from looking out of windows at the brightly-lit world outside, to playing with his fingers, to rolling on his stomach and uttering his first word – “Mum!” – I realise that each of these moments are unique to him, but they have also happened to millions, billions, of others; everyone who has lived on this planet.

Everyday moments that Ruben experiences seem interwoven with my own childhood memories. Random, insignificant snippets hit me all the time. We’re looking at each other in the mirror, Ruben’s finger up against the glass. Or we’re lying on the grass outside staring up into the branches of a tree, the great wide sky beyond. Are these things I too experienced as a baby? That Ruben’s ancestors experienced? That his kids will?

This is why I can’t pinpoint what time is, anymore. Circles, or straight lines, past, or present. It’s a great unknown.

May the unknown moments of 2020 be all that you wish for. However you spend it, here’s to another year on planet Earth!