Marquette University Intimations Project

Reese Seberg

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to die; to look back on my life in instances and fragments of time; a once infinite resource. I’m doubtful that my life would ‘flash’ before my eyes, much as Hollywood prophesied. How could my life be summed up in just a matter of seconds? If I live into my upper 80’s, if all goes according to plan, I would hope my life wouldn’t be so dull that I could recall it in just a few seconds. If I’ve done it right, my life could fill a novel – perhaps multiple; that is, if there is a “right” way to do life. But this isn’t a conversation regarding ethical decisions and philosophical debate. In just my 20 years, I feel like I’ve already lived a lifetime – but just one. For each stage of my life, I imagine myself experiencing a rebirth. While yes, this is metaphorical, I still can’t imagine only living one lifetime. We always speak of time in this allegorical way: “you only live once bro!” and “live each day as if it’s your last.” But for every YOLO and poor decision I witness, I come to the realization that most people don’t actually mean these things when they say them; nor do they act on them. If we lived each day as if it were our last, Brad from Sigma Chi probably would have died a long time ago and Izzy surely wouldn’t be in Milwaukee. She would be exploring the Alps or saving the rainforest or some Peace Corps stuff like that. I guess what I’m getting at, is that I never quite grasped the aspect of time and our ignorance of its existence. 

I suppose I hadn’t given much thought to time either, I probably still don’t. I live my life with a strict routine: coffee, workout, shower, class, and work in between. I have meetings most days as well as cleaning my apartment, and at night I see my boyfriend or my friends. If I’m lucky, I quietly sit alone with a book or watch Desperate Housewives for the third time over. I never fathomed that I was wasting my time because frankly, time has seemed endless since I was young. Days have blended together as the weeks turn into months. Before I knew it, I was graduating high school and getting out of the hometown I once hated so much. I blew a Summer working a retail job I didn’t love and to be honest, I don’t remember much of that time. Then I was in Milwaukee redesigning myself, perhaps on my second lifetime, if you will. It was not until the last year or so that I had thought about time so much, and so intensely. 

There was never enough time; it was always “I’ll do it tomorrow I don’t have time today” or “maybe next week.” Then suddenly, there was no next week. Our “next week” has become the past year. All concepts of time were wiped away, like God or whoever erased the whiteboard marker off the board of the World. What I thought was March became June and what was June became September and then we got slapped across the face with Christmas – if you could call it that. Holidays without family just aren’t the same no matter how much we attempt to ignore it. Then when you finally see family all there is to discuss is how they “can’t breathe behind these damn things” while they pull down their masks or their reasons for or against getting vaccinated. Which, is an entirely different essay in and of itself.

Needless to say, all concepts of time went out the window. With all the time in the World, all I was left to think of was how I would spend my time once this was over. The concerts I would go to, the parties I would throw, and the people I would meet. Then one day I thought to myself “Why do I think of time as infinite? Why do I plan time?” Time simply isn’t guaranteed, it speeds up each year that passes, and I’ve already lost a year of it. In that year I could’ve gotten a dream internship or traveled to a country I’ve never been. Maybe I would have seen my grandparents more or met my Boyfriend’s extended family. I’m 20 for God’s sake – I probably would have spent the year in and out of bars, going to clubs, and performing other juvenile delinquent behaviors. With a year tossed in the trash, I’m left to decide how I want to spend my remaining ones. We often think so much of what we ‘should’ be doing and what we ‘need’ to be doing. We make excuses for why we need to be alone or watch Netflix for the third night in a row. We make excuses for staying in and rescheduling that lunch with your friend from high school for the hundredth time.

Perhaps if this virus really was the end of all civilization, like a majority of us originally thought it would, would I really be content with the way I lived right up until my death? It was at that moment that I realized I wouldn’t; and I don’t think I’m alone in that feeling. For any of us, tomorrow is not guaranteed. I’m not saying I’m going to start living in an impulsive and chaotic way, and surely, I will continue attending to my daily rituals. However, next time my Nani asks me to meet for lunch I’m going to say yes. Next time I debate going to class or going to see that concert I’ve always wanted to, I’m going to see the concert. I’m done spending my time doing menial things that, at the end of the day, don’t really mean anything. For all I know, I could lose another year of my life, and this time I’m prepared. I want to be okay with dying tomorrow and knowing all I’ve done in my life is something I am proud of. I want to have zero regrets so that way if a COVID-20023 comes our way sometime, I don’t spend a year reflecting on what could have been. 

Time – a social construct to measure how much we can fit into one day. It’s the age-old categorical imperative that we have to be doing something each day of our lives and we must fill it before it runs out. But, who decided that we have to spend our precious time this way? I don’t remember being commanded to go “run errands” for the third time this week or spending time with people who don’t fulfill the duties of a friend. I know I can’t opt out of society, I’m not completely delusional. What I can opt out of is the cultural norm of wasting time and complaining about not having enough of it. Or, in the case of 2020, complaining about having too much time. I want to just be happy with time; in this lifetime, as well as the rest to come. 

Maybe I’m alone in this feeling, but I can’t help but wonder: When time is stripped away, and we are left defenseless against the impending doom of death, will we be happy with how we have spent it?