The hourglass: Human markers of time

In our modern world, it’s easy to mark time. Glance at the right-hand corner of your screen, tap your phone, look at your watch, check your receipt or look at the board. Time is all around us, ticking by - Make your purchase in the next 01:59:23 to qualify for free delivery. We count it up - I can’t believe I met you 20 years ago! - we count it down - Three weeks till our holiday! However much we tell ourselves that it’s a construct, that we are free agents on a rock spinning through an infinite universe, we are tied to it. Pick the kids up from school at 4, gymnastics at 5, karate at 8. I’m not a fan of clock-watching, but I have a full-time job and three kids, so it’s something I have to do. But I love the days - few and far between - when time doesn’t matter. At those times, I notice other, more ancient ways to measure time.

Camping by the beach in Kerkyra, I measure the passing of the summer weeks by the tan of my daughters’ skin and the fairness of their hair. But here in England, there are other ways: the height of the beans in the garden - ankle-high when we arrived, and passing my head a month later - the ripeness of blackberries, the blushing of tomatoes and the size of courgettes.

Next month, I will be 40. Years are another way we mark time, and I was born in a good one, I think. (Great music, crazy hair, HIV was identified, Tetris was born, people floated in space without being attached to anything - and where would us 80s kids have been without The Karate Kid, Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones, Gremlins and The NeverEnding Story?? And 1984 also gave its name to one of the most famous dystopian novels of all time, of course.) We measure our lives in years, decades… maybe a few of us will see a century. Then we have historical time - the eras, the millennia - which bleeds into geological time - eons and epochs; periods of time that are so long they are indefinable.

The human body marks time too. Our society has taught us to wish it didn’t - to pit ourselves against imperfections and saggy skin, wrinkles and grey hairs. We try not to listen - we give our stretch marks ridiculous names like ‘tiger stripes of creation’ - we say how beautiful elderly women are (and I don’t dispute that). But the truth is - and I know I’m not supposed to say this - wouldn’t almost all of us like the body we had when we were 20? Not just because of how resilient that body was, surviving on crap food and minimal sleep, and still looking incredible, but because of the way it worked. Who had a twinge in their back when they were 20? Or crunchy shoulders from years hunched over a screen? (OK, maybe 20 years olds these days do, but there was no computer in the house I grew up in, no tablets and no mobile phones - 80s kid, remember?)

Our human markers of time are not kind, but I think it’s a lot worse to try to erase them. I don’t know anything about botox or plastic surgery, and everyone’s body is their own to do with as they wish, but I don’t want to mess with mine. Even if I have crinkles in the corners of my eyes and white hairs sprouting in a stripe from my head like Anna Paquin in X-Men. (I love my white hairs, by the way - don’t ask me why!) Even if my core isn’t as rock-solid as it once was.

Acceptance is something you learn with age - or at least you are supposed to. In today’s world, I think that lesson has been brushed under the carpet. You can’t sell anti-wrinkle cream and tummy tucks and injections to smooth out your face in a world where everyone just accepts themselves and the passage of time, can you? (Steel Magnolias is one of my favourite films, and there’s a line from Dolly Parton’s character - who is a beautician - that says (and you’ve got to hear it in her lovely Southern accent), “Time marches on, and sooner or later you realise that it’s marching across your face.” Funny - but telling.)

But it’s also worth remembering that there is a gulf between acceptance and letting yourself go. We don’t want to be arming ourselves with chemicals and minor operations in a losing battle against nature, but equally we don’t want to mistreat our amazing bodies and say, Oh, well - that’s just nature taking its course. We’ve got to take care of what we’ve got, because we are lucky enough to have it.

When I was younger, I exercised to have a washboard stomach while still eating literally everything I could lay my hands on. Later, I exercised because I enjoyed it. Now, I still enjoy it, but I have another motive. OK, I have all those little motives, like achieving the full splits and doing an elbow stand, and - I’ll admit it - I like my stomach to have those two lines of muscle definition down each side (and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.) But the overarching reason I exercise is because I like the way my body moves, and I think it can do fantastic things, and I want to keep it that way.

You’ve probably seen those “so you’re 40” videos with soundtracks of creaking doors when people do a squat. 40 is a mega edge place in today’s world - at least on social media, anyway. But if you could squat comfortably at 39, (unless you have an accident) you’ll be squatting comfortably at 40… and 41… and so on. It’s true what they say:

If you don’t use it, you lose it.

That goes for anything your body can do. It goes for your sense of humour, your sense of adventure, and anything you learn. It goes for your beliefs, your friendships, your ability to belly-laugh, your relationships, the food you buy or grow, the magic in your sex life, your car battery and your silliness too. Believe me, if you shut anything away for long enough, it’ll stop working. So use the things that matter to you, as often as you can.

I guess that’s my sage advice after nearly four decades Earthside: use it or lose it. (Well, I never claimed to be wise.)

Oh, and that goes for time as well. Time, most of all.

Liminally yours,

K