A month from today ago, I would have halted time if the power had belonged to me.
Contrary to what one might first think, this is not because life was in accordance with my wishes; life was not so good that I wished to savor its sweetness. Rather, I was in the midst of a wild storm, one in which my sails were tearing and my boat was sinking; I had somewhere to go, people waiting on me–worrying for me, perhaps–and I had planks, sails, and ropes to repair before I could simply continue my journey. Yet time ticked on, dragging my boat further under and pushing my arrival further out of sight. I wished to cease time only for a moment, to catch my fleeting breath and repair what I had neglectfully allowed to break without also delaying my journey.
Time is relative. This is something I learned during the tail end of my physics class last month (a number of planks had been broken by the storm at this point), and I remember being utterly fascinated by such concept’s implications. Time travel, I learned (a rope snapped, pulling my attention for a worrying moment) was indeed deemed possible by physical laws. However, just because a mountain exists to be climbed does not mean it is climbable. Truly, it is our own human limitations that keep us from jumping rope with the fourth dimension; these same limitations prevented me from calming the storm that only seemed to grow more furious with me. (The sails! they obeyed me no longer. Where was the Captain? In His chambers? No–I stole His chambers from Him long ago.)
The storm has since calmed to a periodic rumble and a tired breeze, though I can now see that I have been blown off course completely. My ship is a broken vessel, one that I haven’t the tools to fix. I am stranded above water that will only feed my thirst if I drink it, and I can’t stop myself from thinking the Captain may have gone. After all, the ship certainly looks like it is without a guide–but does this mean she is sailing without one? No; it only means the Captain was not commanding her. Indeed, a ship cannot sail herself. She had been given the freedom of the sea by the Captain, yet without His hand, she is only pushed to and fro, never truly sailing.
If I had halted time for myself a month ago today, it would not yet be today–the sky would not yet be calm. I moved forward with the storm; I did not–could not–fight for its pause, if only for its end to be delayed. I’ve reaped the consequences of an unguided ship. I must give the ropes I stole back to the Captain; I haven’t the hammer and nails my ship needs for repair–He, for me, does.
He, for me, does.