Twenty-four hours

Dolores Hans
MSMU class of 2025

(2/2024) It is hard to wrap my brain around the fact that there is an extra day coming up because it is just another Thursday. I will admit that in a world where time passes far too quickly and laughs as we desperately try to find a moment of joyfulness, having an additional twenty-four hours seems daunting. Twenty-four extra hours, but at least eight will be spent sleeping, and many more will be spent doing the seemingly mundane parts of life we spend most other days doing anyway. There is so much I could do with that time. So much I wish I could do. I could write a letter to everyone I have ever loved telling them how much they mean to me. I could lie at the top of a grassy hill, feeling the wind pass through me as if I am nothing but a blade of grass. I could take my siblings out for ice cream and on an adventure, trying to reclaim the wonder I felt as a child. I could read a book at the foot of a weeping willow and weep alongside it as the sun sets, recalling those whom I miss who have passed, because it has been too long since I have allowed them to cross my mind. I could prepare yet another twelve-hour date with my beloved, and we could delight in how awesome it is to be completely in love. Honestly, I could spend twenty-four hours just looking at him, hearing him play guitar, and finding ways to make him smile. I could spend the whole day learning new recipes and perfecting my own, so I can add my own cookbook to the stacks on my desk. I could go out, breathe deep, feel everything, and live.

Alas, my day will likely be spent on my couch, recovering from my appointment at the dentist, probably deleting photos to clear up storage on my phone, and going crazy because I long to be with my dearest friends here in Maryland. It will probably be cold, so I won’t be outdoors basking in the sunlight and hearing the birds sing their melodious songs. I will probably clean up after my siblings and fall asleep with the sounds of the television on instead of the faint sound of the cars on Route 15.

Why must this extra day be at the end of February? When the earth is covered in a delicate layer of snow, wind ripping at the glistening fractals, blowing cold air through the cracks in our windows. When the people of the world are in the middle of the chaos of work and school. It will be just another Thursday. Why do we create such a poor stigma about how we spend our time, adding to the pressure not only to live rightly as we would any other day, but to make this one count? Twenty-four hours. Why are we presented with a blessing, only for it to be revealed that it was just a facade for the ordinary and tiresome, taunting us with the idea of something more.

I will be on spring break prior to and during this leap day. How ironic, no, how cruel is it that every day of my break prior to the extra twenty-four hours, I could be spending with the love of my life, exploring nature, and feeling happiness like never before. But when that leap day comes around, I will be hundreds of miles away from him in a mundane world of appointments and busy work. When people ask me how I spent my leap day, this rare and supposedly fruitful day, I will simply say that I spent it with my family, because it is too hard to admit without shame that I did not live life to the fullest. I did not seize the day. I did not lay on a grassy hill or watch the sunset or write letters.

Although, I guess that’s the way of time. Time teases us with its presence and acts as though it is a victim of neglect, believing we do not appreciate it or see its value. It would have us believe that we are careless and joyless, seeing time as only something to be lost. In actuality though, time is an oppressor. It rears its face towards us, pressuring us to make the most of it and take the gifts it offers us even though they are poisoned. It feeds our minds with images of warmth and jubilation, only to shame us for not taking advantage of the sun that didn’t shine and the joy that had no name. It exploits our desires and coerces us to accept the empty promises it provides. It presents itself as an under-appreciated gem, but truly it is a master of despair.

That is, until we change our minds to accepting this truth, and embracing it. Instead of saying "make every moment count because soon this time will be gone," believing time is a gift and we must appreciate it, ultimately causing pain if we don’t, let’s say "do what makes you happy as often as you can, and even with time against you, you will thrive."

There will come a day when my life catches up to my dreams. Spending unbroken time with my love, cooking new recipes, writing letters, taking kids on adventures, and all the joys that come from raising kids, teaching, and being married, all things that I see in my future. One day, it won’t be so daunting to have a leap day, because I will already be living the life that consists of all the ways I wish I could’ve been spending extra time. One day, I could spend my leap day at the top of a grassy hill having a picnic with my family while my husband smiles and plays guitar, and the kids eat ice cream while reading. And there I will be, writing them each a letter as the sun sets, feeling the wind pass through me, breathing deep, feeling everything, living.