|Time as colored on the Helmsley Building|
At some point on my walk earlier this week from Grand Central Station, past Bryant Park, down Broadway, and over 34th at 8th where I got an unobstructed view of the Empire State Building, I contemplated about time. Of course, there is the classic novel "In Search of Lost Time", by Proust, who documented in excruciating detail his day-to-day living, transcending the mundane to reveal the humanity of our existence. Or so I have gathered from reading Alain de Botton who wrote about his discoveries of Proust in his popular philosophical wanderings. These thoughts caused pause, at least inside my head, as I briskly traversed the streets and avenues to make my train. I was walking in NYC, after all.
It takes time to write this post. It could have been time spent on other pursuits: a deliverable for work, a meeting, a coffee with a friend. These are all decisions to make, to "invest" the time we have. Which is a fancy way of saying that I passed time writing this post, and if I did something else (or nothing at all), I still passed the time. Whether we like it or not, time keeps moving towards its inevitable conclusion. In search of time, we will always find it in the moment - good to know because if you are searching for time, you have effectively discovered it.