Il Tempo Non Esiste

I rubbed my finger slowly along the top of the TV. The dust collected under the tip of my finger and I brushed it off and let it fall randomly to the table. The dust was there and only I could clear it. Each day that I looked at it and thought, ‘That needs doing’, and just guilted myself on how much greyer it looked as another fine layer was added. I grabbed a duster and wiped the top, the back, side to side across the screen like a professional window cleaner removing that layer of water much like, in turn, a barber with a cut throat razor. It was thoroughly cleaned and I felt better for it but I wasn’t clean inside and whatever it was that was paralysing me from doing anything was still hanging on.

Time to do everything but too scared to do anything. Learn Italian or relearn French? No, I’ll do neither and sit around worrying about my future. Write and record the rest of those songs so I can at least try and do something with them. No, the pianos not in tune enough. Get on with telling some more people about the gender thing. No, I have money and a job to sort out. On the face of it I probably have my priorities correct; spending time looking for work to support myself rather than these things of interest and putting a pin in the whole gender thing for now because it will just add more stress to an already complex stressful time. The thing is I feel I need something that is progress to make me feel worthwhile and as if I have purpose.

I was watching a short film and the Italian actor said, “Il tempo non esiste.” It was just at that moment when that unravelled for me. It was what I am searching for in life. It’s not so much about slowing down or ducking out of the fast lane. It was exactly that, Time does not exist. A life where pace is at the same pace as me. Not struggling to catch a breath or barely breathing while a problem is solved. A life where time doesn’t matter because life is good and nearly each moment is enjoyable as the next. It brings pictures to my mind of freshly ripe tomatoes, peppers and pasta dusted with flour. Ripe lemons and bunches of olives hanging from trees in the morning sun. Bright houses and blue skies to light them. People who always say hello and have a moment for you.

The problem in my western culture is that the majority seem to like to accept the nine to five, which in reality is now eight to six basic and you’ll go when we say you can go. That majority trudge to work each day, process everything we have to process for society to function in it’s machine-like fashion, and go home to do what little we can before the rinse–repeat for the weekend. It’s safe but who is working who, society for us or we for the machine society. It works, that’s the problem, but when will the machine run so fast that it falls apart. Life should be challenging but it shouldn’t be destructive.

–– ––

I flung the curtains open. It was blue skies and puffy white clouds. Breezy and still a chill but it was a sign of some better weather. I quickly got showered and changed. Three quarter length capris and a loose t-shirt. I sat in the car and turned the key, nothing. “Damn.” I pulled the bike from the back of the garage where is sat propped against all the cardboard boxes as if the front wheel was using the rest of the bike as a unicycle. I set off on the mile or two ride to my destination.

Each foot scrapped on the gravel in that kind of crunch way that it does on the drives of those rich enough to gravel them but here the wind brushed over my face making my cheeks red and the my senses heightened to the noise of a trickle of a small brook with a waterfall and the smell of the pine trees either side of the path that rose upwards presenting it’s own challenge to me. I had been here before either walking or riding but the spur of the moment and the elation of imagining what it was going to be like to run through the pine forest early(ish) on a sunny day and then the reality being just like the thought, it was incredible. It was an Il Tempo Non Esiste moment. Time really didn’t mean anything at that moment. I wasn’t thinking about jobs and no money. I wasn’t thinking about my future or worrying about my past. There was just the present. The way we should really live.

Running, for me, is what keeps me going at the moment. It’s not just the endorphins making me feel better or helping me to think through my problems at times, it’s the place I can be myself. A place I can wear things for running and be happy about it and totally comfortable and to some extent feel like who I will be if I ever complete my journey; at least complete to where the new journey begins. It’s around other people as well and now it’s second nature how I feel at that moment and in the moments leading up to it, then I really am in the right place, “Il tempo non esiste.”

When I returned to the carpark and walked to my locked bike an older gentleman walking around his van looked at me perturbed. “Is that your bike?” He asked concerned.
“Yes it is.” I said wondering why he was so interested.
“You want to be careful. They’ll have that.”
“I was a bit worried leaving it here but it’s old and not worth much.”
“Doesn’t matter to them.”
“Thanks. May be I won’t leave it here again.”
“They’ll have it because it’s there. You get some right wankers around here.”

Tempo restituito.

Until next time.

Hannah x

3 thoughts on “Il Tempo Non Esiste

  1. Gosh, you are so right on the subject of the work cycle, something I was only discussing with friends last evening over dinner. You get swept up in it for a lifetime and it spits you out for whatever length of retirement your body can manage. All rather depressing. The simple life would still be hard work but at least it would be for yourself with all the satisfaction that brings. Instead most of us work to make someone else richer. So the only answer for us is to grab those moments where our lives are enriched as you have done in running. So much pleasure can be gained doing those kind of things, in fact I think I’ll get my bike out…

    x Debs x

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