Howdy,
Time is a complex thing.
So simple. Tick, tick, tick.
So dimensional and eternal. Calm, quiet, roaring upheaval.
“Time’s present to us is its gift.”
I was thinking about time today, because it was time to write, and when it’s tempting to drag feet rather than plop butt and get to work with the actual writing portion of the writing, it can be a cliche like “there’s no time like the present …” that starts the start.
Just get going. So now’s the time. Now, is as good of time as any. And actually, as we all know but don’t always act on, now is the only time. The only time we have for acting is now. In the now.
There’s a lot more to this life than now, in the sense of eternity, in the sense of delayed gratification, in the sense of maturity and wisdom, but for acting, for getting to what you know you need to be doing but are dragging your feet, stalling, procrastinating, there’s no time like now, no time like the present.
Seat. Glue. Butt. That’s what they say the key to writing is: butt glue. Mix in starting in the present and I think you’ve got it.
This isn’t a new idea, but I may just have penned a new way to phrase: Time’s present to us is its gift.
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