January 1, 2006

The House of Time

Even in a good year, it can seem sometimes as though our days are numbers on a string - week after week, month after month passing in a straight chronological line through our allotted age. At times like that it feels as though we were living by the calendar astronomers sometimes use, by which today is the Julian day 2453737. To envision today as 2453737 instead of Jan. 1, 2006, is to grasp immediately how welcoming, how comforting the cyclical nature of our lives really is. Our house of time is a circular one, full of familiar landmarks that we commemorate year after year as they come in sight again.

It is always surprising how refreshing it is to come upon New Year, how vital the idea of starting over always is. Of course there is no starting over, not really. But the promise of the new year is not merely a metaphor or a delusion. We are creatures bound by our habitation on this planet to live by the inevitable circularities of light and season, no matter how abstracted or urbane our lives have become. And we are no less habituated to the cycles of promise and renewal. To live without a sense of promise is barely to live at all.

There is some strange genius in New Year. The turning of the calendar does nothing to cauterize the past. But here in the dead of winter - with most of winter well in front of us - New Year comes as a reminder of how much regeneration lies ahead. The sun will roll northward again, and the soil will warm, and whether we care to know it or not, the earth will do its best to rejuvenate itself. It may seem odd to think of this day as the token of all that. Today may feel like a momentary pause in the flow of our lives, a time to take stock. But tomorrow will be 2453738, and off we will go again.


EDITORIAL
January 1, 2006 The House of Time Even in a good year, it can seem sometimes as though our days are numbers on a string - week after week, month after month passing in a straight chronological line through our allotted age. At times like that it feels as though we were living by the calendar astronomers sometimes use, by which today is the Julian day 2453737. To envision today as 2453737 instead of Jan. 1, 2006, is to grasp immediately how welcoming, how comforting the cyclical nature of our lives really is. Our house of time is a circular one, full of familiar landmarks that we commemorate year after year as they come in sight again. It is always surprising how refreshing it is to come upon New Year, how vital the idea of starting over always is. Of course there is no starting over, not really. But the promise of the new year is not merely a metaphor or a delusion. We are creatures bound by our habitation on this planet to live by the inevitable circularities of light and season, no matter how abstracted or urbane our lives have become. And we are no less habituated to the cycles of promise and renewal. To live without a sense of promise is barely to live at all. There is some strange genius in New Year. The turning of the calendar does nothing to cauterize the past. But here in the dead of winter - with most of winter well in front of us - New Year comes as a reminder of how much regeneration lies ahead. The sun will roll northward again, and the soil will warm, and whether we care to know it or not, the earth will do its best to rejuvenate itself. It may seem odd to think of this day as the token of all that. Today may feel like a momentary pause in the flow of our lives, a time to take stock. But tomorrow will be 2453738, and off we will go again. Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company