Disclaimer: mild spoilers, I tried my best to live in the abstract but I would love it if you watched the movie before reading. 

I’m terrified that I’m not living my life to the fullest. 

Terrified that I’m not intentional enough, not grateful enough, not present enough. Sometimes I’ll look back on a week gone by—a fugue-state blitz of classes, work, and socializing—and be unable to pick out distinct memories. I’m scared of closing doors, of missing out, so I hang on to everything I can, for fear of losing something that doesn’t yet and may never exist. In turn, I find myself so lost in my desire to experience all that there is—meet every friend, take every class, write every article—that I’m drowning in obligation and unable to appreciate any of it. Lost in the sauce, some may say.

In retrospect, years have slipped by this way. I, a solemn passenger, anxious and dutiful, carve my path through the world in vague service of a better future and fear of a worse one. Truth be told, I am terrified to keep living like this. 

What would you do with all the time in the world?

I’m often asked about my favorite movie, to which I always name the 2013 rom-com About Time. Usually, I am met with a “huh,” or a “is that the name of the movie?” It was released to no particular hubbub and wasn’t met with much critical acclaim, no Oscars nods or box office glory. But it holds a special place in my heart. 

Set in modern England, the protagonist Tim Lake learns from his father that the men of their family can travel back in time. On paper, this is a somewhat corny premise, but the genuine characters and gentle pacing of the film make you soon forget that. With warm colors and soft-spoken words, the film compels you to believe in Tim’s gift. Left only with the magnificence of his special ability, Tim and the viewer alike face the question: What would you do with all the time in the world? Warned against the pursuit of riches, Tim directs his gift toward love instead. 

What about me? After all, I am no time-turning Tim. One of the most pressing considerations in my life is my professional ambition. Is the pursuit of fame and riches and a big-boy job title what I truly want? Would it be enough to enjoy the little things, smell the flowers, and saunter from small joy to small joy for the rest of my life? I’m not sure. Would I look back on a life of simple pleasures with regret for not pursuing greatness, or find contentment in a life well-enjoyed?

What if I made the wrong decision?

When I sit and think about the direction of my life, I find myself feeling tiny in the face of the world. I imagine all the doors that I’ll never be able to open—all the people I’ll never meet, courses I’ll never take, clubs I’ll never join, places I’ll never see—and find myself so defeated. What if I chose the wrong class to take? The wrong event to attend? What if I walked out the door right before I would have met the love of my life? I find myself reluctant to close the doors I’ve begun to explore too, even if I’m not enjoying them, for I fear they may evolve into something I can’t miss. 

Unlike me, never knowing anything but the paths I’ve chosen, Tim can try again. His first slew of time-twisting comes in pursuit of his first love, Charlotte. Staying at his family’s house for the summer, Tim watches the days pass, admiring from afar, until he musters up the courage on her final day to confess his adoration. Charlotte turns him down, saying that a final day confession leaves no room for romance, and perhaps he should have asked earlier on. Tim, endowed with the power to do so, obliges, only to find rejection again, with the suggestion that he ask on the last day. 

Perhaps you are not missing out on anything at all; some things just are not meant to be. Even if you are missing out, it may be that … 

To miss out is a blessing.

In a restaurant, Tim meets Mary, the love of his life. They eat, they flirt, and they exchange numbers. Tim goes home to find his flatmate desolate, the greatest triumph of his career snuffed out by factors beyond his control. Tim, able to solve such a misfortune, goes back in time to do so but in the process misses out on meeting the girl of his dreams. He ends up finding her, but learns that she has a boyfriend, so he turns back time to meet her before she met her boyfriend. In saving his friend’s career, but missing out on the lovely dinner, Tim afforded himself the flexibility to meet the love of his life in the best way possible, at the right time. 

After dating Mary for a while, Tim goes to the theater and runs into Charlotte, his first love. Charlotte expresses interest, but at the end of the night, Tim realizes that Mary is the one for him. Perhaps it was for the best that Charlotte turned him down. 

How do I move forward?

Tim and Mary get married. She says to him, “And so it begins, lots and lots of types of days.” What constitutes living a good life? A good year? Good week? Day? 

Over Spring Break I had a most wonderful day. A stroll through a cute town, with a sunset whose warm rays ushered in the stars on the ocean breeze, complete with dinner under warm lights, criss-crossed between aged buildings. The next day was my final day in town, and I rushed to catch the sunset again in the same place. I knew it was too late, but I still ran hard. By the time I arrived, the fire had already left the sky. In the final moments of the film, Tim shares what he’s learned for a good life, which I’ll leave you to watch for yourself. But in times like my sunset chasing, even turning back time wouldn’t quench what I was seeking. I was chasing a day, a time, that was wonderful. A time ingrained in my mind because it had passed. To live is to let go, because, after all, even Tim can’t relive the same moment forever. 

So turn away from the sunset and let it pass. Turn with conviction, with the certainty that you have lived it to its fullest. Turn and look forward to what you never know may be ahead.