But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity…
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
– Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress
Spending time ought to come with a warning label. I’m revisiting this poem from Marvell. I’d first written about it before the pandemic, when the world seemed quite normal, if maddeningly out of sorts. Since then, well, we all know how things have gone.
So what do we do with this hard-won knowledge? We have our own time’s winged chariot hurrying near. Maybe we have a few years more or less than the average, but what’s it worth to you anyway? Another trip around the sun and vast eternity ahead for every last one of us. Make the most of life now, while there’s still some of that time for you.
Today is the day before the promise of another year more. I’m getting a second dose of the Pfizer vaccine with a hopeful eye towards the future. A future where we might run with the sun, chasing every day to its extraordinary end. Sporting while we may. The sun doesn’t stand still. And neither should we.