Upon sending an Internet friend one of those little diversion pieces that makes it way around the Web, I received the reply, "Nel, you have too much time on your hands." I thought about that and sent back to him this reflection.
You know, after some consideration — and some 15 years of careful experimentation — I've come to the conclusion that one can never have too much time on one's hands.
One can have too much money on one's hands, but that's easily remedied: get it off your hands and into the hands of someone who doesn't have enough. (It seems to me that the desire to get too much money on one's hands is one of the chief enemies of having time on one's hands.)
But one can never have too much time on one's hands. This is why, when offered some lucrative extra job, I always reply, "No, thank you. I'd rather have time than money." I don't always add: "Time is what life consists of."
But life does consist of time, of small moments that can't be planned; of going out for a walk right now, in this heavy fog, because precisely this cold, this fog, this slant of light, these very fat ducks snortling and chortling and laughing out loud ah-ah-ah-ah across the pond, will never come again. And nothing but time on one's hands allows one to experience these things, and say, "Lord, what beauty You've made!"
It's a wonderful thing, when the world is rushing to work in its cars, and the pedestrians are scurrying, heads down, ears on i-pods and eyes on cell phones, to stop and say, "They're not attending, Lord, but I hear the dew dropping from the leaves, and the triumphant caw of the crows, the rustle of the sparrows in the undergrowth (not one of whom falls to earth without Your notice), and see the orange sun breaking through the fog. And I appreciate the fact that You make all this beauty every day. I'm not taking it for granted or passing it by. I came out to see it on purpose, and to thank You for it."
Time on one's hands, it seems to me, allows life the elbow-room to drop in moments of pure joy and beauty, humor, zest, and camaraderie. Time on one's hands makes possible daily conversation with God and with people, patient attention to the world and to others — things that simply don't happen in the lives of people who don't have time on their hands. And surely you've noticed that it's the people who have time on their hands — the grandparents of the world, so to speak — who seem most accessible, most open, most approachable when someone is in trouble? One small indication of "too busy-ness" sends the needy soul scurrying away. Time on your hands means openness to life and to others, don't you think?
I've experienced both — too much money and having free time (I won't say "too much time"). And I'm quite convinced I'd rather be one of — and spend time with — the people who have too much time, than the people who have too little. It seems to me that saying that someone has "too much time" is like saying someone has "too much life" — and one can never have too much life, both to live and to share.
So thank you. It's nice to know that my efforts to have more life on my hands has results not only visible to me, but discernable to others, who might be in need, and won't fear approaching someone as un-busy as I.
You throw me a cliché, and you get philosophy.
'Cause I've got time on my hands.
