The Ferryman and the Clock

There was once a ferryman who lived at a wide river and a slow town. Every day he carried passengers across — clerks, farmers, children going to school, old women going to market. He kept no clock. He left the bank when the boat was full and returned when it was empty.

One year a man from the city arrived. He gave the ferryman a clock and told him: 'Now you can run on schedule. People will not have to wait.' The ferryman thanked him and hung the clock on the wall of the boathouse.

Within a month he had become miserable. He left the bank at the hour, whether the boat was full or not. He arrived at the far side on time, but tired. He no longer spoke to the children. He counted the minutes between crossings and resented the ones that ran long. The river had not changed. The work had not changed. The clock had.

We have all been given the same clock. It is on our phones, on our wrists, on our walls. It tells us when we are 'behind.' But behind what? The river is not in a hurry. The work that matters takes the time it takes.

Use the clock when you must. But remember the ferryman, and remember that the hour the clock measures is not the same as the moment you are alive in.