Once Upon a Time, the Clocks Stopped

Not clock-watching is curiously liberating

Many great stories begin with “once upon a time.” Have you ever wondered why? Perhaps it’s because their authors want them to be timeless. The moment we consider an event taking place in a specific era or at a particular hour, we set parameters, restraining its expansion.

I’ve heard time is an illusion created as a tool. We use it to help us judge when to engage in behaviors like meeting up with friends, planting crops, and the hour we ought to arrive at and finish work. But I wonder whether it limits us.

“My watch is broken.”

I sigh and say, “Well, I guess we’ll have to get you a new one.”

But Lee, my husband, casts off his broken timepiece with joy, replying, “I don’t think I’ll get another.”

I think a moment before mentioning I rely on him to tell me the time (although I rarely ask what it is) since the kitchen clock stopped working, and we replaced it with a dartboard.

I felt naughty when I gave up watch-wearing, like a kid sneaking behind the school gym building for a crafty smoke. It wasn’t something anyone else I knew did. And, in some respects, not owning a timepiece went against average, everyday behavior and maybe even morals.

Many people consider not keeping an eye on the time irresponsible. It’s like jumping in puddles when wearing your best suit on the way to the office. Or taking a bus to an unknown destination and deciding to walk home from it, no matter how far away it is.

“If you don’t have a watch,” I say, “How will you do things on time?”

“What things?”

I scratch my head. It’s common knowledge that everyone, at some point, must do something or the other at a set time.

“You might have an appointment to see the doctor.

“I’ll go as soon as I’m ill.”

“What if you need to meet someone somewhere about your business?”

“It’s my business. I’ll phone whoever it is and arrange to meet them then and there.”’ I’m not entirely convinced this strategy will work out, but it’s got legs.

I’ve gotten away without clock-watching much for about fifteen years. I remember the day my watch stopped ticking. I decided then and there that I wasn’t going to replace it. After all, owning it wasted time.

It stole my attention because I felt the need to check it frequently. It was a constant concentration-breaker. I’d wonder what the time was and have to look on and off the entire day. Now, I wouldn’t do that anymore. I’d be free of time constraints (to a large degree).

Lee tossed his watch in the garbage.

“That’s that, then,” he says, and we are both without watches. However, we still have a grandmother clock Lee inherited. It stands in the lounge, and occasionally, he remembers to wind it.

A couple of times a week, I peek at it because, out of the blue, I get curious as to the time. Mostly, though, I’m happy not to know.

“You’re early today,” says a fellow dog walker.

“Am I?”

People often feel the need to discuss my timekeeping, not in a judgmental sense. But they like to inform me if I’m off schedule. I don’t have a genuine schedule; it’s just that once you stop watching time, something magical happens. You do everything at a similar time on autopilot. You become a fabulous timekeeper without the stress of constantly checking the time. And the moment you veer a few minutes one way or the other, someone will tell you.

“Do I usually walk Copernicus (my dog) at a certain time then?”

“Yes,” says the dog walker, “like clockwork.” It’s the same with most of my routines. My mind and body know when to engage in them.

“If we’re really stuck. You know. Suppose we have to be somewhere. We can look at our computers,” says Lee.

I instantly consider covering up the tiny timekeeper in the right-hand corner of the screen.

“I’d forgotten it was there.”

“I’ll meet you at five o’clock,” a friend says, “to go walking.”

She has no idea I don’t own a watch. But, whether the computer’s on, which means I can see the clock or not, I’ll be at the right place at the right time. I know when to stop typing and grab my coat because my body tells me. Failing that, Copernicus tells me when it’s time to leave, and he’s a perfect timekeeper.

It’s years since Lee, like me, tossed his watch, and I don’t recall us ever being late for an event. We can’t escape time entirely because the TV displays a clock like our computers. Also, people like to discuss the time; you notice this phenomenon once you’ve quit clock-watching.

We’re happy not continually checking the time and worrying about how long we’ve left before leaving the house or what time to come home again.

Once upon a time, I gave up wearing a watch. I quit asking anyone the time. I stopped thinking about the time and enjoyed my liberation.