Some Reflections on Time: Misha Herwin

 

When I have a commission or a project, I like to finish it way before the deadline. Last minute spurts of writing are not for me, so it’s somewhat ironic that this month’s blog is being written so late in the day.

It’s not what I planned, but family visits, a birthday treat, a phone call from a friend who needed a little TLC have left me with less time than I thought.

Time, however, is something I have been thinking about over the past few days. My musing began when I realised that having arrived in April, a quarter of the year has gone and most of it has passed in a blur.

This is not because I have been idle. Far from it. “Yet More Adventures of Poppy and Amelia” book 3 of the series I am writing with my granddaughter is now out.  I have an adult novel almost ready to go and am editing the sixth and last of the Adventures of Letty Parker.  Having said that, I’ve not spent every day writing. There has been lots of domestic, medical and family stuff going on too, some important, some less so.

Why then the lack of distinct and vivid memories plus the sensation of days speeding past?

Part of the reason is simply a matter of age. Time may be linear but our perception of it is not. Some days fly past, others drag. Childhood feels longer, than adolescence which in turn seems longer than young adulthood and by the time one reaches retirement, time races on.

There are theories on how to slow this down. Doing something new every day is one way, but I am more taken with Edward de Bono’s idea of living more densely, of concentrating on the smaller details of life which is what children do.

Having listened to his podcast, I gave myself the time and space to look at the orchid on the bathroom windowsill. It’s been there for months and in all the time it’s been in flower I have, in passing, appreciated its beauty, but for the first time I really looked at it and saw how every flower is slightly different in its markings from the other, how each one ends in a curved spike and that there is a butterfly shape in the middle of the blossom. One flower on it is pure cream, another mottled in pink and purple, or partly cream and partly mottled.

I don’t know what this part of the flower is called. I don’t know what it does. I might look that up at some point but right now I just want to stand and look and marvel at the intricate differences I can see.

Doing this I begin to understand that gazing in wonder at the things around us can indeed slow our perception of time. It also takes me out of the worries and irritations of daily life and as a writer I would hope that noticing detail and using it in my stories will give depth and resonance to my work.