Reckoning when my last post was posted you would say me, but it’s all of us. Well, most of us. The rest are just weird.
A few lines from a poem I heard recently in a Podcast which beautifully puts procrastination in perspective, I urge you to go read the whole thing:
Beware, Lorenzo! a slow-sudden death.
How dreadful that deliberate surprise?
Be wise today, ’tis madness to defer;
Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life:
Procrastination is the thief of time,
Year after year it steals, till all are fled,
And to the mercies of a moment leaves
The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
– The Complaint: or Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality by Edward Young
If the sun obliterates, for 8 whole minutes life on Earth would be the same – people strutting and fretting about nothing. We would be able to see the sun and it would be the perfect ball of fire that it was – an illusion and at the same time not one(for the scientifically challenged like me, it takes light 8 minutes to travel from the Sun to reach
Earth, so you see its past form). Humor me, Dear Reader, in a thought experiment. Imagine that the Sun vanishes from the face of the universe right now, this moment,
tell yourself how you would live your last 8 minutes. This could actually happen, you know? I’m just making sure you’re prepared to face the day, or just the 8 minutes. We do live our lives as if we’re some strange species of tortoise that lives forever. Reality is, of course, we live under an inevitable doom, i.e., we all will die and we don’t know when, could be any second or ages.
Food for thought, a few lines from the modern text of Macbeth, relevant to the context, of course:
“She would have died later anyway. That news was bound to come someday. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. The days creep slowly along until the end of time. And every day that’s already happened has taken fools that much closer to their deaths. Out, out, brief candle. Life is nothing more than an illusion. It’s like a poor actor who struts and worries for his hour on the stage and then is never heard from again. Life is a story told by an idiot, full of noise and emotional disturbance but devoid of meaning.”
So, why is it that, in our fleeting existence, we choose to live the way we do?
A few days ago, it poured heavily around where I live and it’s a rarity here. I came out to take in the gentle, cool breeze and couldn’t help but feel satisfied and mindful of the moment. Just me being there, enjoying the moment, the wind caressing my face, another rarity. I saw this familiar dog outside in the rain, playing with a torn up rag and boy, the joy she got out of it. The rest of the humankind was rushing to get indoors. All I could think of was human greed and it’s infiniteness, and here was a dog happy with her rag.
This is a note to me. A note to remember to be happy. To procrastinate anything and everything but happiness. Yes, I do need a reminder for that. And I believe, so do you.