June 13th, 2026
“Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter, and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun”
From the song, Time, by Pink Floyd
I first listened to the song from Pink Floyd when I was twenty-three years old, and I was a student in the U.S. Army flight school at Fort Rucker, Alabama. I was busy learning how to fly Hueys, and for me the training was often stressful. Yet, there was also a lot of dead time. Southeastern Alabama did not have a lot going for it at the time. Unless I chose to drive a couple hours to a beach on the Florida’s gulf coast, I was stuck in the local area watching the kudzu grow.
So, the first two verses of the song rang true. It often happened that I concluded “there is time to kill today” and yes, I did “fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way”. I did that sort of thing a lot while I was in the Army. Being a soldier meant have long stretches of tedium interrupted by short bursts of intense activity. I was told once that a day wasted is not necessarily a wasted day. I probably goofed off more than I should have. On the other hand, if I had stayed busy all the time, I probably would never have met my wife, Karin, when I was stationed in Germany. The really crucial events in life sometimes occur in the gaps between the activities that the world tells you are important.
“And you run, and you run to catch up with the sun, but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you’re older
Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death
Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say”
Now, these two verses resonate with me.
I have a friend who is in his nineties. He’s alert and in generally good health. He still has ambitions to do things, but he mourns the fact that he no longer has the time or energy to accomplish his objectives. His goals are simple. He just wants to work in his garden. He might like to go to the synagogue again. He wants to bake cookies. These are all ordinary tasks that now seem out of reach.
I am younger than my friend, yet sometimes I feel the same way. I feel tired quite often. I leave many things undone, or half-done. I used to do volunteer work with vets and with migrants. Now I don’t. I start a project only to drop my tools (physical or mental) to deal with an unexpected problem. It is depressing at times.
I am reading a semi-autobiographical novel by Michael Chabon. It’s called Moonglow. It is about a young man listening to the stories of his dying grandfather. In one section of the book, the elderly man laments,
“I’m disappointed in myself. In my life. All my life, everything I tried. I only got halfway there. You try to take advantage of the time you have. That’s what they tell you to do. But when you’re old, you look back and see all that you did, with all that time, is waste it. All you have is a story of things you never started or couldn’t finish. Things you fought with all your heart to build that didn’t last or fought with all your heart to get rid of and they’re all still around. I’m ashamed of myself.”
I can completely understand the old man’s regrets. Sometimes, late at night, when only I am awake, I have the same dark feelings. But the grandfather’s words in the novel are only partially true. I have failed in many respects, but success is not necessarily the meaning of life. As a Tibetan Buddhist, Chogyam Trungpa once said, “The path is to goal”. A person has to take risks and play the fool sometimes in order to truly live. A person has to give a damn about others. That’s what matters.
I cannot indulge in mourning the past. I don’t have time for that. I still have work to do. I have Asher, my five-year-old grandson, to raise. I have a wife who needs me. I have other people who depend on me to some extent.
Hang on a minute. I hear Asher calling me.
“Grandpa! Come here!”
“What do you need?”
“Grandpa, come read to me.”
I will end here. I have important things to do.
Frank is Emptiness 