We the People: The Soul of America

American culture has many virtues. Near the top is society’s languid, easy-going, unhurried pace. It borders on torpor. It’s uplifting to observe strangers smiling and offering greetings when they pass and so many rolling with punches, not getting into tiffs over trivial slights. And you can’t beat the civility, comity, and respect with which Americans treat each other, even those with whom they strongly disagree. But what warms the heart’s cockles most is the populace’s appreciation for good-natured ribbing, chuckle-causing humor, which can only be attributed to Americans being one big happy family.

Okay, back to Earth. What was your reaction while reading that? Were you baffled, scratching your head? Did you smile, catching the irony? Did it induce some other reaction, perhaps causing you to have an eye-popping, jaw-tightening, teeth-grinding sensation? Or was it between or a blend of light-heartedness and intensity?

American culture has an array of virtues, but, of course, none of those listed above. And therein lies our problem. We’re a frenetic people, which Merriam-Webster defines as “marked by fast and energetic, disordered, or anxiety-driven activity.”

My intention here isn’t to deliberate on American virtues but to ascertain why we’re not only a hurrying people but also why it’s a prime cause of our fragmentation. It comes down a four-letter word: T-I-M-E. We’ve been subjugated by it and blithely march in accordance with its directive.

Our language reinforces that. Think about why we call the time piece many wear on their wrist a “watch.” Think of verbs associated with time like spend or earn, gain or lose, use or waste. Each treats time as a commodity, an object, something tangible. That’s disconcerting enough, but there’s a more sinister aspect of time today: It’s been monetized. Time is money! And as the old maxim goes, waste not, want not. Except that time isn’t like other items you can waste then later replenish, assuming you’re affluent. Unlike other commodities, you can’t restock time. It keeps ticking no matter if you spend yours dawdling or working feverishly.

Ticking. Think of how that correlates to time. Ticking of a clock, although nowadays clocks rarely tick. They used to beginning with the invention of the mechanized time piece. Before that, people referenced a sun dial, which worked, of course, only on sunny days. But before either of them, time as we know it didn’t exist. Nature ruled.

Modern time isn’t just a commodity that can be measured, apportioned, or spent, however. We moderns have developed a psychological and emotional relationship with it. For example, it can drag on or fly by. Paradoxically though, they generally cause the opposite impact of what our behavior yearns for. Time drags when we’re bored, impatient, or in a hurry. It flies when we’re engaged in something meaningful like working on a craft, reading a book, or hiking a trail. Or watching the sun rise or set.

In her short book “Time,” Polish-born Eva Hoffman dissects Americans’ relation to time. Having grown up under communist rule in post-WWII Eastern Europe, she has the advantage of perspective on a number of angles. There, she says, time crawled, but here time is everything, particularly money. And they’re intricately interwoven.

In America, wealth as a barometer of standing—success—increasingly has noxious consequences at the personal level. Hoffman posits the pressure for upward mobility with its accompanying characteristics including extreme competition and shame for not making it big with salaries, promotions, houses—the list goes on—is a serious stress inducer. Her point resonated with me because of a conversation I had with someone that’s etched in my memory. He said he was “driven” when it came to his lifestyle choices and career success.

“Really,” I replied. “Driven is passive voice, which means something must be driving you. What is it?”

That exchange happened when he was in his thirties, but now in middle age, he’s happily questioning that.  

But the problem with commoditizing time doesn’t reside solely at the personal level. It carries over to cultural, ethnic, and racial attitudes that foster stereotypical assumptions and assertions about different groups’ practices and work ethic. And those are injurious and can be lethal for a democratic society.

Hoffman cites Romanian poet Carmen Firan, who likewise grew up in the gray communist world. Firan posits in America it’s sold everywhere and is even included in our throwaway parting line—Have a nice day—used to get a customer to hurry along.  

“The Soul,” Firan suggests, “is lying lonely somewhere on a shrink’s chair, in front a computer screen or in a cell phone.” She wrote that in 2008, which adds an ironic twist to the old saw that says the more things change, the more they stay the same.