This Moment

For a moment I sit on this plush bed, a pillow bracing my back from the wall, clacking the small black squares that turn thoughts into bits. The resulting sounds vary in pressure and rhythm, each sentence a unique sequence; its own little victory.

This moment might only last a few minutes, or a few hours. In the scope of the next twenty-four, this moment is brief. In the scope of this year, even briefer.

But in the context of all that will ever exist, this moment is microscopic, smaller than a speck of sand. Of all the moments that have ever been experienced, this is just one footnote in a galaxy-sized encyclopedia.

Of course, the fact that this moment is only one of many does not reduce its meaning. It just shows how often moments change.

One day it will be as if this moment never happened. Another lost fragment in the cosmic lost and found. Everything you know and everyone you love will be gone, wiped from this planet, forgotten forever.

Is that terrifying? Maybe.

But it also shows that life — instead of one grand story — is a collection of individual, ever-changing moments, slapped together to look like one.

We most often measure life through time, engraving tombstones with dates that mark beginning and end. But defaulting to the long-view measurement of time obscures the individuality of each moment.

Behind the curtain, a year is a flurry of Russian nesting dolls, posing as months, weeks, and days. Each day masquerades as a library of hours, minutes, and seconds. But perhaps the most accurate measurement of time is simply: moments, shrouded in moments, all the way down.

With every beat, your heart pumps blood throughout your body, until the moment you exist lends itself to one you don’t. With one snap of the shutter, everything can change.

Just as it always had.


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