Time is of the Essence

Rereading my post on Existential Angst, I've realised that I've learned a little more about Existentialism and therefore have to change my explanation of what it really is. So I guess we'll all go to bed a little less stupid tonight. I've just finished reading Sartre's Nausee, although, regrettably, not in the original French (pretentious enough for you? Seriously though, translations are tricky and should be avoided whenever possible).

The protagonist of the story is a writer going about his daily business. The style of writing is much like Alan Lightman or Jeanette Winterson, a stream of consciousness where you often find yourself unsure if he's having a flashback, a dream or it's really happening. It is mostly incomprehensible as a message, except that the protagonist eventually realizes that everything he's doing is pointless. This is what I used to believe the sole nature of Existentialism was.

I have had several existential moments since reading this text, and now I understand it a lot better. First, I contemplate sitting in front of the TV all evening. Second, I sit at a bureaucratic meeting where motions are passed and we all sit like chimps and raise our hands when told. Everything has been decided in advance, and our "vote" doesn't even count (no really, it happened just yesterday). The existential thought is not that these things don't matter but "Am I really doing all that I should be with the time that I have?" This is what the protagonist was wondering, and to a certain extent it paralyzed him.

Life is short. We all know that. Meanings can easily be taken away, and there are no certain answers. So how do we know we are using our time to its full potential? That is the true essence of existentialism. I realised this weekend how attached I am to time. I could sit alone, I don't crave company as much as others. I don't need too much (I like to think of myself as a modern day Thoreau) but I couldn't stop checking the time. A beautiful long weekend, with nothing to do but sit and relax, and I care about if it is 10 or 11. Odd, isn't it?

"Dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that's the stuff life is made of." -Benjamin Franklin