Time is Elastic

“We should allow children to be happy in their own way, for what better way will they find?” – Seneca.¹

Happiness seems to be an enigma—this quest, a constant mind-fuck of “when I have this…” or “if I can just…” or “when I get time to do x, y, or z…” I’ll be happy. It’s exhausting. Meanwhile, my kids—in their tiny Zen master states are running around, totally unaware that there’s some big “secret” to happiness. They don’t put constraints on it like we do. Are they just so present in the moment that they’re not tangled up in their own heads, or are their needs just so simple that happiness is not something to be questioned?

And yet—here’s the funny thing—at any moment, they can flip. Like a switch, they’ll suddenly be melting down because their brother looked at them the wrong way, and I’m standing there wondering WTF, knowing they’re still just as happy underneath it all. Does their natural state win out when the crisis passes, and they’re back to contentment two minutes later?

In Hardship and Happiness, Seneca writes (translated) that we should “snatch the joy of our children, for what time do we have but now,” and I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Maybe it’s simpler than I’m making it. Maybe it just means paying attention. Really paying attention to the little sparks of joy they find, moment to moment. The joy you can share in while experiencing this with them. Easier said than done, though, right? Because, let’s be honest, as adults, we’re kind of a mess. We’ve got a hundred things on our minds, and we’ve convinced ourselves that all these distractions are important. But are they?

Life is fleeting– we all know this. So, how do we slow down enough to cherish the moments with the people we love? In that same book, Seneca shared that we should “Let your children find delight in you, and drain the joy to the dregs without delay.” And I think, okay, sure, that sounds great, but how? If our children can model such joy onto us, how can we mirror that back to them? How can we raise humans who are authentically themselves so that joy and happiness are moment-to-moment experiences not constrained by the “whens” and “ifs.” Happiness after all, is not just a feeling; it is also an experience. 

And lately, I’ve realized that, especially in my family, we’re guilty of assuming there’s always more time. We think, Oh, there’s time to make memories later. We’ll do that when things settle down. But the truth is—time is elastic. It stretches and expands when you’re truly in it, like when your kid hands you a dandelion and their whole face lights up because they’re handing you a treasure. And it contracts when you’re stuck in your head, running through your to-do list for the 14th time, forgetting that there’s joy to be had right in front of you.

For us overextended adults, postponing those moments doesn’t lead to deeper connection. It doesn’t mean we’ll come back to it and find more joy later. It just leaves us ruminating in the ‘if-onlys’ and the ‘whens.’ But for our kids, those single shared moments are everything. One bike ride, one inside joke, one trip to the park—these tiny experiences can last a lifetime. They can even last generations. 

Our family has passed down a little tradition that sums this up perfectly: the nostril flare. It’s been quietly signaled at every awkward gathering, too-long dinner, and tedious event– a subtle widening of the nostrils, and we know it’s time to wrap things up. My parents did it with us (it started with my dad’s family), and now we do it with our kids. It’s funny how something so small and ridiculous becomes this shared language that ties generations together. Like any experience, it’s more than just a way to make an escape—it’s a reminder that we’re in this life together, navigating the good and the not-so-good with a bit of humor and a lot of love. As I reflect on memories like these, I invite you to think of your own childhood memories. Sometimes, it’s the simplest ones that linger the longest. Maybe something as small as hearing or sharing, “Mom, remember that time we…”

That’s what time does. It folds in on itself and gives you moments to hold on to forever. This idea is never far from my mind, with my parents gone now for nearly 14 years. I find myself reaching back, looking for those little flashes of memory, of connection. That’s a gift, the way we can call someone back to us in these moments. It is a gift we can give our children, knowing we’ll also be gone one day. So, here I am, trying to make more of those moments. Attempting to turn the ‘whens’ and the ‘if-onlys’ into now. To create memories that will become part of that elasticity of time, where a single experience lasts a lifetime and gives you something you can revisit whenever you need it.

But remember, your only guarantee is right now.

Sincerely,

A Part-Time Buddhist. 

1. P.S. Thanks to Ryan Holiday and The Daily Stoic for the inspiration behind this post.