December 26 to 30. The only five days in a year when time actually pauses. I saw a tweet the other day that called this period “Vague Nothing Time.” That’s exactly what it is.
“Vague” because no one knows what to do during this period, so we fill it with Christmas parties because the annual Christmas parties can’t all fit on a single day. “Nothing” because, unless one has to go to work, nothing much happens.
But it is still “Time.” And time has this stubborn tendency to move forward even when we’d like for it to stop, and to slow down when we can’t wait to get to the next part.
It’s that moment right before a dreaded goodbye. Time seems to prolong itself for you, and then it ends. Because that’s the thing about a pause. It’s only a pause.
I don’t recall the last time I was as embedded into the year-end pause as I am this year. This one feels like the edge of a sudden drop. Maybe it’s the edge of the pandemic. Maybe it’s just growing older.
Most years, this period feels more like an extended weekend. We make the most of it by spending time with family and friends we haven’t seen in a while. Today, a reunion with the high school batch, where everyone is suddenly 10 years younger. Tomorrow, a party at the office, with the same annual dance competition. I guess this year looks the same from the outside. But internally, there’s a rumbling, a longing, but a little more peace.
We like the pause because, if you’re anything like me, you don’t get much of it. It’s always one thing after the next, one beginning after each ending.
A few days ago, on Christmas Eve, I rewatched Interstellar with my sister, who was seeing it for the first time. We explored the idea of time as a resource, like how fuel and food and oxygen are resources. In the movie, it was a tangible thing, almost a character of its own.
If time were indeed another dimension—one that we can fully experience only by catapulting ourselves into a black hole—I picture it like a skyscraper. Every floor is a specific moment in our lives, suspended one on top of the other. Even in that realm, time has a penthouse and above it, a rooftop. Even in that imagined reality, time ends. The pause ends.
It’s December 29. We’re getting close to the end of this pleasant void. It’s the same question every year: what’s beyond the edge? Maybe it’s a free fall. Maybe it’s the eject button in a crashing spaceship. Maybe gravity ceases to exist. Maybe nothing changes. Maybe it’s just hope. Maybe we get to decide when we get there.