In the Tick of Time

The clock on my living room wall is stuck at 3:51 and has been for the last three years. Did it stop in the morning or afternoon? I can’t tell. Month or day? I can’t tell. It’s an analog clock. 

A clock measures the passage of time, more or less accurately, but only when the clock works. When it doesn’t, it’s little more than a wall ornament. 

If I thought time only moved with the clock, I might believe time had stopped completely. But when I look in the mirror, it’s clear that time has moved on. 

The mirror also measures time, providing a tangible, visual reflection of me at this moment. It is not an abstract concept of time represented by the tick of the clock, but just as accurate. Every moment I’m reflected, I’m subtly changing in ways too small to see. Yet compared to last year, I look a little older, have a few more wrinkles, and my hair is a bit more gray.  

My brain also tells me time has moved on. The memories in my brain tell me of experiences, events, colors, sights, and sounds that could have only happened with the passage of time.  

No device, whether a clock, mirror, brain, or any other thing, can predict how many days of life I will have. The clock measures by the tick of each second. The mirror measures by visual reflections. The brain measures the fullness of a life lived. But none can accurately predict the length of a life. 

I wax philosophical. 

Life is fleeting and finite. Life has a beginning and an end. The good book says our life is a vapor, here for a little while, then it vanishes away.  

Someday—a day known only to God himself—the tick of time will end for me. A record of my time on earth will be measured by a simple line etched on a block of stone. 

1960–20xx. My life in a dash, the dash in between.  

I look at the broken clock hanging on the wall, useless for its intended purpose. It’s not even a good wall decoration. It doesn’t tick. The hands don’t move. Motionless. Dead.  

But I’m not dead. There’s still life in me. I observe the second hand tick around the dial of my wristwatch. I rise from the sofa, go to the mirror and gaze on my reflection. 

Life is fleeting. Life is finite. I have a life, here and now, and I will live it well. While I still have the tick of time.