There are only two robbers of childhood: death and time.
Time is a death in a way. A cessation of your four year old self. Of your 10 year old self. Of your ignorant self. Of your yesterday self.
Time is constant, pushing us closer to one inevitable.
Time is a gift, the only gift we all share while here on earth.
What is the time constant? There’s a gravitational constant. A Planck constant. What about a time constant - the rate at which time ticks? At which our molecules age. At which our beings move from one state to another?
I don’t think I’ll get the time to answer that…
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Bryan lives somewhere at the intersection of faith, fatherhood, and futurism and writes about tech, books, Christianity, gratitude, and whatever’s on his mind. If you liked reading, perhaps you’ll also like subscribing: