The Unknown Variables in the Brevity of Time
This week has left a lot for one to ruminate over. From the death of three promising Muslim Americans, to young women who do not look unlike me having their safety threatened, to the masjid in Houston that was flamed, no matter how internal or external our pride and satisfaction of time, we cannot afford to remain content on our perception on the longevity of life.
Today, I decided to watch Wild. Perhaps not the best choice for some escapism, but it did well for the mind. Cheryl Strayer's story depicts a life spiraling towards promised brevity to one that flourished. The movie shows a damaged character finally being triggered into the dark abyss of self-destruction when her mother, the only positive role model in her life, dies an early death. The movie shows the woman's journey through over 1,000 miles to rid herself of her painful past so that she may be internally cleansed to start a new life when she reaches Oregon, Fast forward to the woman now (since the film is based off of a biography), Strayer has more than one best selling hit, as well as a movie to have brought her much acclaim. To contrast that with her impoverished life of government aid and an abusive father, to a life of social and economic comfort show us much in the fickleness in the promises that time seems to make. While I didn't find in the film what I had been searching for, it provided interesting fodder to the thoughts I've carried this week.
As 20-somethings, we hope for a life more similar to Strayer's. We desire the chance to make our mistakes, and remain confident that we'll have the time to heal ourselves, better ourselves, and truly become ourselves. We live in a lofty understanding feeling as if time is promised to us. During exams, how is it that our perception of time is stretched? How is it that spending all day studying makes time move painfully slowly? How is it that winter or spring break go by achingly fast? How far do our 30s and 40s seem to us? Yet how is it that the feeling of being 10 years old seems like the memory of yesterday?
Deah, Razan, and Yusor didn't have the luxury of time that we dream of and depend upon. In their short lives, they lived lives of fulfillment through love, support, service, and community. How many of us would be able to tout the same if our lives were to end so abruptly tomorrow?
Perhaps instead of indulging in thoughts of achieving and doing in an unpromised tomorrow, there is more security and solace to be found in depending upon no moment promised to us other than the very present.