I Have No Idea

- Intermezzo -

I always practice with a metronome. It’s the only way I know for sure if I’m staying on the beat.

But I never used one the entire time I was in college. I pretended to be confident, probably afraid of finding out my rhythm wasn’t what I thought it was.

I also never tracked my time; I didn’t want to see how much of it I was wasting.

These days, my digital timer almost never leaves my side, been that way for at least the last several years. We spend more time together than I do with my wife, more time than my dogs.

I measure my time to waste less of it. When I see how productive I’ve been, I don’t lie to myself.

But I don’t like being so obsessive about it; I don’t want to do this forever. Yet doing this seems to be one of the only ways to remind myself how short my life is.

My dogs do this too, by remaining blissfully unaware of how much shorter their lives are compared to mine. Or maybe they are, in fact, aware, and maybe that’s what I become aware of whenever they look straight into my eyes.

I want to give them everything I can, and because I know they're on a deadline I keep telling myself I only have a year to make it.

To make what?

To make it as a writer.

In reality, it’s not like they care. The best thing about dogs is that they’re content with whatever little you have to give them, as long as that little means everything.

What I really think it is is that I’m sick of trading in my time for a living.

I want more time to live.

I guess it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I didn’t make it after this year was over. In fact, I already know I wouldn’t stop–I would just have much less time to devote to it.

So then, why am I in such a rush?

My dad.

He’s gotten old, yet I don’t spend more time with him these days.

I haven’t accomplished anything that’s even close to what I used to dream about, and every time I see him I can’t help but be reminded of this.

And he’s not the guy I remember, but I think age is only partly to blame. If I gave him something to brag about, I feel like it would bring some of his old verve back.

I’m desperate for this, since I don’t know how much time he has left. Yet every time I talk to him, he keeps saying he has many, many years to go.

I used to think this was a bad thing, but now I have no idea.