The Day I Started Questioning Time: A Journey That Began at Eight Years Old

 

I've Been Obsessed with Time Since I Was 8 Years Old

That sounds like a strange thing for an eight-year-old to say, doesn't it? But I remember it vividly. 

I was eight, my brother was six, and we were trying to let Mom sleep in. 

Our mornings were often filled with old Shirley Temple movies and wild imaginations. We'd turn a blanket into a "boat," grab canned goods from the kitchen, and pretend we were setting sail — sometimes to escape danger, sometimes just to explore.

One morning, standing in the hallway, I asked my brother a question that still echoes in my soul today:

"Why are you you and me me?"

He probably shrugged it off, eager to get back to our blanket boat, but that question never left me. Even at eight, I felt the weight of my own existence — this sense that "I" was something separate and conscious, and that somehow Time and existence were connected in ways I couldn't understand yet.

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When Time Became a Fascination

As I got older, that awareness of Time grew into an obsession. 

Not the kind that makes you late for appointments or stare at clocks (though I've done both), but the kind that makes you wonder: what exactly is Time?

I became drawn to time travel movies and stories that twisted the rules of reality and blurred the boundaries between "then" and "now." They weren't just entertainment for me — they were portals into possibilities. I didn't separate the spiritual from the scientific; I was open to it all.

Can we move through Time? Are we souls who return again and again? Or are we simply fleeting passengers on a one-way track? I never dismissed any of it — God, aliens, reincarnation, time loops, you name it — because every theory felt like it was reaching for the same truth.

Now, as an adult, I believe our souls are timeless. The "me" I felt at eight still feels like the "me" I am today — wiser maybe, but still that same spark. 

The answer to "why are you you and me me?" has softened over the years into something beautifully simple: love and kindness are the only measures, Time is the vehicle. You are always you, and I am always me.

I've come to understand (for me) that we are always our spirit, always our consciousness, always us. It's never been a crap shoot, which is one of the things I felt at 8 years old, that I no longer feel at 65 years old.

No matter who we are, where we came from, or where we go, it's love and kindness that anchor us. When we step away from that, Time loses its purpose, the vehicle stalls — it just becomes noise in the background instead of a rhythm in our heart. The rhythm of growth NEEDS love, it NEEDS kindness. The rest IS noise that only slows our learning down.

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Writing My First Poem About Time When I Was a Teenager in the 1970s

By seventeen, I could already feel Time slipping by. I remember taking the train from my small town to Toronto to visit a friend — about a three-and-a-half-hour ride. Somewhere along the way, watching the world blur past the window, I wrote a poem about Time.

It was the 1970s, and I was a teenager — but even then, I felt the strange ache of hours passing too quickly (crazy, I know! I was so young yet felt the ticking clock). 

Later, in my thirties, I rewrote that same poem, layering it with the wisdom and wear that life had given me. 

In my fifties, I revised it once more, adding even more perspective, as if each decade had given me a new lens through which to see Time.

If I am gifted more Time, will I revise the poem again? I think about that.

Below is that poem, one that has traveled with me for nearly 50 years now — a kind of map of how Time has shaped me.

TIME'S GIFT

Time heals
Promising closure
Shrinking scars like popping bubbles
As it prepares our gift
Time's benefaction is objectivity to our past
Building an awareness of yesteryears
Defogging our vision for truth
Generously donating our package of clarity

Time lies only to those
who misuse its precious moments,
Lines entrenched on our face
can devour redeemable blemishes
By gracefully accepting our package
healing eyes can widen to witness dissipating mist

Time promises blessed tomorrows
Let us put away our spinning wheels
plunge forward with our lesson
accept our bequest from Time, and yes!
We will have morning smiles

By Barbara Tremblay Cipak, Copyrighted

50 Years of Poetry - We Will Have Morning Smiles - Available on Amazon

Time Travel Movies and Timeless Lessons

It's fair to say I've seen nearly every time-travel movie ever made. 

I seek them out, not for the science fiction, but for the spiritual resonance they carry. There's something about them that feels true on multiple levels.

Many philosophers suggest that Time isn't linear — that everything, past and future, is happening all at once. Whether that's scientifically provable or not doesn't matter much to me. What matters is that it feels right.

The only real Time that exists is this moment — the present.

When I first read that idea, I couldn't quite grasp it. 

"What do you mean, only the present exists?" I'd think. We have memories, plans, regrets, and hopes — of course, Time is more than just the present.

But as I've aged, I've come to understand what it really means:
You can reflect on yesterday and plan for tomorrow, but you can only live in the present.

This very moment — writing these words, breathing this breath — is Time. Everything else is memory or imagination. 

It took years, but I FINALLY understand that at my core.

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When Time Stands Still

Living in the present doesn't mean ignoring the future or the past. It just means that you live fully in the moment you're in — even when that moment hurts.

Life has its seasons of chaos and heartbreak, but even in those times, I've learned that joy can still exist. It might be quieter, more fragile, but it's still there — tucked into laughter through tears, or a single kind gesture that reminds you that love never disappears, it just changes form.

That's where Time stands still — in those sacred, love-filled moments.

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Closing Thoughts: What Time Has Taught Me

If Time has taught me anything, it's that every second matters — not because we're racing against a clock, but because each moment is a chance to choose love over fear, kindness over indifference, and presence over distraction.

Maybe that's why I've always been obsessed with Time.

Because somewhere deep down, I knew it wasn't about minutes or hours —
It was about being alive in them.

Blessings, Love Barbara xxoo

P.S. I've written a flash fiction story about the concept of life, lessons learned, and ultimately Time and what matters available here on ReviewThisReviews - you can find it here.

A Video I Created at 60 Years Old, Sitting Quietly With My Mother

My mom passed away in 2021, and she will forever be a part of my every breath, in this life and beyond. This video remains my current reflection on what Time means to me, now that I am 65 years old.

If I were to revise my above poem, "Time’s Gift" again, I’d add the message from this video: that life’s lessons matter, yes, but it’s the love we share and receive that truly sustains us and moves us forward.

Dedication – With heartfelt appreciation to my fellow writers at ReviewThisReviews.com, and especially to Sylvestermouse and Margaret, whose friendship and creativity continue to light the way. Time has been my friend because you are in my life.

Note: The author may receive a commission from purchases made using links found in this article. “As an Amazon Associate, Ebay (EPN), Esty (Awin), and/or Zazzle Affiliate, I (we) earn from qualifying purchases.”

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