After the countdown, spang-on at midnight straight up, as if by a miracle, the New Year pops into the world to a firecracker and champagne reception. Squalling, scrappy, born with a full set of teeth and spoiling for a fight, the full fat year is already on its feet and ready to take on all comers.
But wait. We counted ten, nine, eight, to midnight and the New Year came in at the front door and the Old Year fled out by the back but when exactly was it midnight? What happened? First we were anticipating midnight and then we were remembering midnight but somewhere in between looking forward and looking back we missed midnight itself.
Do we live only in memory and anticipation? Is there actually an indivisible Now that we could discover if we sliced Time up small enough, or is Time infinitely divisible into smaller and yet even smaller increments, each one separated from its fellows by a Past that can never be changed and a Future that can never be visited? Is Time an illusion foisted on us by the imperfect machinery of perception?
How can we live each moment to the fullest if there isn't any such thing?
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