Time change and changing times
As I was reading this morning I quite suddenly remembered that time will jump ahead early tomorrow morning, borrowing an hour of my life that will be returned sometime next fall. Knowing that the lost hour will materialize as if out of nothing next fall is little comfort as I contemplate the lost hour of sleep tonight. I remind myself, though, that it’s only an hour of sleep. There was a spring season years ago when the change seemed much more cataclysmic.
The health risks of the time shift of the spring are well documented. The risk of heart attacks is something like 25% higher on the Monday after the time change than on the typical Monday. Traffic accidents and workplace injuries go up as well. And apparently there’s a significant and negative impact on many people’s mental health.
My maternal grandfather, a farmer, dealt with the change straightforwardly. He simply didn’t change his clock, but instead lived on the schedule that he thought should be unchanging. Such a move was easier for him than it would be for many — the land that he tilled was waiting for him at the appropriate time; his work was guided by the rising and setting of the sun rather than by the clock on his living room table.
I suppose my life is like his these days in that respect. If I were stubborn (I trust you’ll not tell my wife that I implied there that I’m not stubborn), I could leave my clocks unchanged and even force the internet-connected clocks to display the “normal” time. Speaking of my wife, that wouldn’t work for her because she’s still subject to the time demands of the world outside our home.
But I digress. I should return to that cataclysmic time I mentioned above before I was distracted by health risks and memories of my grandfather. It was about 40 years ago. I was in graduate school. My degree program had a rather intense and demanding collection of written examinations. After a year in the program we had to complete four qualifying exams. In each of these qualifying exams, we had four and a half hours to respond in writing to the examiner’s questions. After clearing that hurdle, we had a couple of years to prepare for five field exams. These were even more demanding — for each exam, we had seven and a half hours to write answers to the examiner’s questions. To make matters worse, there were three two-week exam periods each calendar year, and we were required to complete each set of exams — the qualifying exams and the field exams — in two consecutive exam periods. After making my way through the four qualifying exams and two of the field exams, I was scheduled one spring to take three field exams in a two week period. As I recall, I scheduled exams on Monday and Friday of the first week and on Friday of the second week. The time change came on the Sunday morning eight days before the exam period began. When I realized that I was going to lose an hour of study time, I was irrationally furious. I’m more than a little embarrassed to write that sentence now — it was only an hour, and I knew that it was coming — but I felt that it was horribly unfair. Why, I thought — or, rather, felt — is the world picking on me?
I don’t remember this every year that we lose this hour of sleep, but remembering it now helps me deal with the shorter night I’m facing along with many others. I can take comfort in the thought that my real and reasonable concern is about those health issues.
