Lately, “Time flies” and “I have been so busy” are quite possibly the most
common phrases that I say or hear. In fact, it seems to be the root of many
conversations: explaining why we haven’t been in touch, why I haven’t returned
your call, why I haven’t seen you in weeks, why I didn’t know about your latest
news… it all starts with, “Oh, I have been so busy lately… ” and
“Wow, I can’t believe it has been 3 weeks/3
months/3 years! Time really does fly.” All of my conversations seem to gravitate
around these two points.
We know that the world has gotten more scattered and
frantic. People are available 24 hours a day on 6-10 different
channels: 2+ email accounts, FB messenger, What’s app, SMS, Twitter, LinkedIn,
Instagram... All of these notifications pop up on your phone by the minute, urging
you to check them constantly in between everything else you are doing: getting
dressed while checking the phone, drinking coffee while checking phone, running to
catch the bus while checking phone, meeting with friends while checking phone, even meetings at work now happen while half of the people are checking their
phones.
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Even Facebook thinks it! As I was posting this,
Facebook made a Time Flies video for my "faceaversary" |
Everything is done frantically, instantaneously, halfheartedly,
so messages are easily overlooked or forgotten; phone calls are rarely accepted and in-person meetings are increasingly sparse. I am too busy. Everyone feels
it, so it is always a valid excuse. And no one can complain about it because it
is always true. We are all too busy. Too busy for human interaction because we
are now 24-7 interacting with humans and we are overloaded.
So sometimes we all
need to lose, or at least lose track of, our phones. Oops, it was on silent. Oh, I went for a run. Oh, I
was cooking dinner. Oh, I was on the phone… In truth, the phone pretty much
participates in all of these activities, but we need to say we were
unavailable, even if we weren’t because, we can’t do it anymore. We need some
time for silence, even if it is forced.
These thoughts were even more striking to me this weekend as
we went to a place of total silence, a site of practically no human
interaction:
Certosa di Trisulti. It is a 12
th century monastery/hermitage
in the hills of Lazio, 1.5 hours from Rome, where currently only 2, but up to
60 monks, have lived their lives in total silence. The rule of the land was
quiet. No one spoke to the other, and human interaction was usually limited to
mass. Wooden boards replaced spoken words for logistical purposes, assigning
daily chores. Some kept to their rooms entirely and never left, not even to
eat. A private garden offered them the sustenance they needed.
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| 13th Century Chore Board |
In this setting of utter quiet and basic human interaction,
the floor of the resident pharmacy (which they needed because, even in sickness,
you never left the monastery) displays a mosaic picture of an hour glass
with wings: time flies. The 13th century version literally translated from the Latin:
memini volat irreparabile tempus reads "Remember,
time flies irreparably." Written in a dead language, in a secluded setting such as this, silent monks coexisting peacefully in their own
worlds, were still reminding each other through art that time flies and you
better make the most of it.
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| "Remember, time flies irreparably" |
I wonder how many of us overstimulated human beings would
find that time flies when living in utter silence, in one setting, day in and
day out, closed off in one place for all our needs. This scenario is almost our modern definition of boredom. But this message
was part of their experience. One of the few that are engraved throughout the
site. It would seem that these monks did find that time flew. Even in solitude,
in quiet, with no interaction, time flew. Someone thought this an important enough message to remember along with other sayings around the Monastery: One does not live on bread alone and Better to prevent than to cure. Time
flies was a part of their existence. It was a truth they faced.
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| One does not live on bread alone |
How interesting that no matter what the circumstance, no
matter how quiet a life might seem to an outsider, how slow an existence might
be to an external person, the person living it still feels like life is fleeting.
In some ways it makes me feel better. It makes me feel like
even if I threw my smart phone into a well and lived in a village outside of
the maddening pace of a big city, I would still feel like life is too short.
That even if I lived in a village and stayed inside all day every day, I might
be the one commissioned to write a saying on the floor of my village and I
would choose to say that time flies. It is comforting to know that this is a
human experience that cannot be avoided no matter our life choices.
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| The amazing pharmacy |
On the other hand, it is a little sad. I acknowledge that it is I who have attached this melancholy
feeling to that artwork. I don’t know if it was at all intended. But what I am
pretty sure was intended, what is always intended, is the feeling of “Open your
eyes”/“Be in the present.” This idea
that we are here but not here is the part that is scary. We live each day, but
do not experience each day. We go through the motions, do everything we have
and want to do, we eat and sleep and exercise, answer all our messages and do
all that we should and at the end of the day we barely remember the motions of
that day. We are never mindful because our minds are too full. No wonder carpe diem and mindfulness are such trendy terms.
My life is not going to slow down. In fact, if I believe my
elders, it is only going to speed up. I am not going to throw my cell phone
down a well. I am not going to move into a remote village or even a suburb. I
am not going to renounce speaking to humans (though sometimes it is tempting). I
will continue my busy, city, digital life because I like it and because life
works this way now. But what I will try to do more is to be present, to be
indeed more mindful.
In fact, that is what
Living like a Tourist is all about:
to live each day, wherever you are, as if you might never come back tomorrow.
To treat each day like you are on holiday. I am good at doing this when I am
touring my city or traveling, but I am not so good at this in mundane tasks of
“ordinary”, non-touristic life.
I want to remember to put away my phone when listening to
friends, to finish loading the laundry machine before I start reorganizing the
cleaning products, to finish writing one email before looking at the new one
that pops up. I want to be fully present, because even more than remembering
that time flies, I have to remember: the present is all there is. That is what
I want to hear myself say more often.
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