We don’t have enough of it. We encumber ourselves with obligations for time to come. We forget too much of the time passed. Genuinely, we attempt to manage what we have, and what we have left. But we have failed at this countless times before. Why do we assume that we will do differently this time. What have we really done to make the difference?
This should be easier now. With practice. But at 78, there is less time now to conserve. Failure is not the worry it was. There may be a masochism to learning, but there is certainly a pleasure. The matter is to do something worthwhile with what remains. Successful or not. And though I have done some things with my time that I believe are worthwhile, and some that I know are precious, I feel as if I have learned too little. Addressing that deficiency may be worthwhile by itself.
My choices now are more limited than they were before. This is a physical reality. Existential. But choosing what to do next is still limited by my ignorance. What choices are there? In any particular case, do I have time to learn the ropes. Time is further limited by energy. It sounds like something akin to a matter of physics as much as my physical limitations. And that might only be discovered by trying. And thus, the loss of more time, if my choice is mistaken.
I may do what I have done before, but differently. At least the territory there is familiar. If you are Irish, there is always more to say. Being only half Irish actually makes that task easier. A novel perhaps. A mystery, maybe. I haven’t the strength to clear new land in the forest of ideas that crowd around. And the crowd is not friendly, in any case. But I have several of those now done that sit in their electronic drawers and it feels a bit profligate and wasteful of that afore mentioned time I worry about.
If I were to do any bucket kicking, what would I want to have done beforehand. Allowing for whatever time there is. I can certainly hope that whatever it is, the choice is a good one.