This weekend marks the beginning of British Summer Time. The prospect of more light in the evening conjures up images of luxuriously long games of cricket and the occasional, decadent after-work trip to the local beer garden.
Of course, I won’t feel the change brought about by the clocks going forward as acutely as some, because I’ve never owned a watch. For a teacher, I realise this may seem as strange as a cat refusing to chase a mouse. But let me explain.
There’s been an exhilaration in liberating myself from the tyranny of ticking hands. In fact, my sense of time has sharpened without any gadgets or digital distractions; much like an artist who prefers paintbrushes to computers.
The irony, is that I absolutely detest being late. Two hours early? I’m your man. Two minutes behind time? Well, that’s just a mental disaster waiting to happen. Don’t even get me started on traffic jams and the unforgiving driving app recalculations around Junction 9 of the M3.
Navigating life without a watch feels akin to tightrope walking without a safety net. It’s an adventure that’s both nerve-wracking and thrilling. Instead of glancing at my wrist, I’ve learned to listen to the world. The church bells chime, the sun climbs and dips. If I’m feeling particularly observant, I’ll try to tell the time by the shadows dancing across the pavement. Mastering how to tell time by the North Star at night? That’s a badge of honour that would make any intrepid explorer proud. Magellan move over…
Living in the UK has taught me some delightful tricks, like gauging sunset timings with a simple rule: hold up your fingers between the sun and the horizon, allowing about 15 minutes for each. It’s a reminder that time is a fluid concept, much like the endless British drizzle – it’s never quite as straightforward as it seems.
Without a watch, you become attuned to the day’s subtle rhythms. You hear the birds singing at various hours. The inhaling of savoury scents wafting from nearby kitchens guides you towards the mealtime punctuators (and people’s curious lunchtime choices). This is a sensory experience that a smartwatch simply cannot replicate – no buzzing notifications or incessant updates can compete with the gentle beauty of life unfolding around you.
I think there’s a certain madness in becoming enslaved to a daily schedule; perpetually checking the time as if it were a ticking bomb. Take golf, for instance: once a delightful game of judgment and finesse, it’s now been transformed into a data-driven spectacle thanks to yardage watches. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned intuition and guesstimation? As for fitness watches that track heart rates and other bodily functions, or the ‘WHOOP’, which breezily tells me it will unlock my potential…there are no words.
Time turns us into statistics – mere data points in a sea of efficiency. Doctors rush through ten-minute appointments, in which time becomes a tyrant; reducing our humanity to cold (though often necessary) calculations and leaving us spitting out symptoms as though we’re under exam conditions.
In our relentless pursuit of punctuality and productivity, we often overlook the beauty of unmeasured moments. Not wearing a watch gives me the freedom to experience time in its most glorious, unadulterated form – a vibrant tapestry woven from sunlight, sky, people and the simple joys of everyday life.
Time doesn’t always need to be measured. Sometimes, it’s perfectly acceptable to just be. As long as in doing so, I’m never late.
Yours,
Adam
