Building a time machine
Time is the one thing you often grasp too late. You hear about it from entrepreneurs, the so-called successful or rich: “Time is our most precious asset,” “It’s not worth my time,” “Protect your time.” If you can truly understand the value of time in your 20s or 30s, you’ll be ahead—mentally and in many other ways. Lately, I’ve started to believe that time isn’t just about minutes or hours; it’s also about headspace.
I’ve written about grief (the dream machine), and I’ve caught a few Anderson Cooper interviews with Andrew Garfield and Alex Van Halen, along with that unforgettable tearjerker from Keanu Reeves (“you will be missed”). The underlying theme—what they all seem to circle back to—is this: Ultimately, you miss the times you had.
Lately, I’ve been hit with anxieties about how much time has passed, realizing only now how much I was doing, enjoying, and living fully in the moment back then—without recognizing it at the time. It’s only twenty years later, in reflection, that I feel it. What if you could go back? To a specific day, a fleeting moment, or even a feeling? The excitement before heading to college, or the warmth of a family vacation.
I came across something recently: most family photo albums are thrown out soon after grandparents or parents pass away, particularly by those who feel no connection to the people in the photos. While looking through our own family albums, I stumbled on pictures of my first Christmas. Uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins—all there. Of course, I don’t remember that Christmas, but seeing those faces, the family I grew up with, the love that surrounded me... it was all there. Now, only about a quarter of those people are still alive.
Music, scents, photographs, colors—all of these can bring us back. They’re reminders of people we’ve lost. I’m fortunate in one way: I don’t want to go back to change anything, only to be there again. To feel it all one more time.
And so, this post begins.
I will build a Time Machine.
Stay tuned.
Building a time machine