June 20 was my birthday. In the grand scheme of the universe, it was no big deal, and I am not just being modest. I turned 59. That is about as exciting as double-pleated khakis. No one gets excited about 59. There are no, “Ugh, oh, look who’s getting over the hill!” jokes because the hill is in plain view. I suppose all that will come next year, but for this year, nobody really cares about someone turning 59.
This year, however, June 20 marked not only my birthday, but along with humming cicadas, blooming geraniums and pools encircled by steaming chlorine clouds, it was also summer solstice — the longest day of the year. The day of my birth fell on the same day that our patch of Earth decided it would indeed be hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk. By the way, this is not a good idea. It makes a mess on the sidewalk and ruins the eggs.
According to my budgeted McAfee research assistant, Google, folks have marked the summer solstice in pretty big ways — from Viking raids to bonfires. Ancient Egyptians worshipped the sun on this day, and early Britons moved boulders around in a curious circle that we now call Stonehenge.
I assume at Mercer, Viking raids and bonfires would require too much paperwork, and sun worship, though certainly tolerated, would invite critics. And you are going to be hard pressed to find someone moving boulders under the hot Georgia sun just to mark the longest day of the year.
Maybe the length of days is less important than how you fill them. The average time a college student spends on social media is about 4 1/2 hours a day. The average time I spend commuting each week is seven to eight hours. The average time spent in meetings falls somewhere between forever and eternity.
You get my point.
When you think about it, we spend much of our day doing things we either do not remember or wish we could forget. But I think that is OK too. Not every day can be extraordinary or Instagrammable. My life is not a TikTok video — at least not one that stands a chance of trending!
Most of my days are spent moving piles of paper, literal and figurative, from one place to another. I have endless conversations that I forget about soon after I have them, simply because they are routine and not particularly noteworthy. Most of the time, I cannot even remember what I had for lunch, although there is a good chance I ate somewhere near Buford Highway.
Henry David Thoreau spent a fair amount of time not worrying much about time. In Walden he penned, “Time is but a stream I go a-fishing in.” Yet he was a harsh critic of those who lived lives unexamined, who spent their time living lives of “quiet desperation.” A couple of thousand years earlier, the anonymous philosopher of Ecclesiastes exhorted, “ … there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; moreover, it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil.” (3:12-13 NRSVUE)
Yes, we certainly waste time on long and short days doomscrolling and daydreaming, shuffling papers and ignoring emails, but in the end, each day is a gift. It would be a real waste not to find some joy and a little pleasure in all the ordinary, forgettable things we do.
Enjoy your day. Save the bonfires and Viking raids for the fall!
