The Broken Clock

I am a broken clock.

I see the other clocks always proudly displaying what time it is. With confidence, and unwavering belief in self, they boldly state that it is 8:15. I am sat here shamefully mumbling that it is 2:47. I know that it isn't 2:47. I have no idea why I said it's 2:47. I have regrets that I've said it's 2:47. I have hurt others with my misinformation. The man is late for work. The woman forgets a call with her sick mother. The child wakes up early and unrested. The couple misses their flight. Despite this, I continue on. Minute after minute. Hour after hour. Relentlessly letting the world know that it is 2:47. I will not stop. I will not yield. I will not allow myself to take the time to discover the true time. I will simply be wrong, with every choice I make.

Over time, I have seen the other clocks. I have watched them be right on time over and over again. I have sat jealously envying them and the seemingly effortless task of constantly being correct. Of always making the right choice. Of being confident in themselves. They know what they need to do and they do it. Oh how they do it! Minute after minute, hour after hour, they do what they were built to do and they do it well. Hands and face always eagerly awaiting their audience. No anxiety. No shame. No concept of doubt. I want to be that clock.

I used to be that clock. I used to know the time. Minute by minute. Hour by hour. I knew it and displayed it proudly. I had no whisper of doubt. I had no reason to believe that I wasn't good enough. I had no reason to think I was different from the clocks around me. Then. Suddenly. I began to lose track. I stumbled. I slowed. At first it wasn't very noticeable. A few seconds here and there. But then it was hours. And before long, I had stopped completely. Becoming of no use to anyone.

If I know that I'm giving the wrong time, why continue to give it? I have asked myself that same question. What is the point of going on, if I am destined to be wrong? To fail. To mislead. To hurt and be hurt. To not be good enough. Why even be a clock anymore at all? Why try?

I met another clock.

She is amazing! She tells the time in confident short bursts. She stays away from others until she trusts you. She has fallen. She has been cracked. She has been broken. But you can see where she has healed herself. Where she has applied tape. Where she has applied glue. Where she has replaced a part. She is an inspiration to me.

Twice a day. For exactly one second. We yell out the same time. It's the only time that I yell. 2:47!!! I've never been so proud of that time. That constant reminder of my mistakes has never brought me such joy. But for those two times a day, I am right. And she is right by my side.

She has shown me how she fixed herself. She told me about falling off the shelf when she was young. How no one was around to help her, so she learned to help herself. How she tried so many tapes, and glues, and replacement parts until she finally fit them together. She tells me that she's not 100% anymore, and that she probably never will be, but that she's happy.

I tried some of her techniques. But I am old. I am broken. I am lazy. Replacing a part is hard. Taping and gluing are hard. It's easy to just mumble 2:47 and rely on the two times a day we match. It's easy to give up.

I am the happiest I've ever been twice a day. She is beginning to get annoyed all the time. She must listen to me shout the wrong time at her all day. Even the time we match has become a headache, as it's a reminder of all the rest where we don't. She finally tells me that she can't listen to my broken time anymore.

I begin taping, and gluing, and replacing as furiously as I can. I speed up a little. I am still wrong much more often than I am right. I am disheartened. I throw my work away. I will stay broken. I will keep with what I know. The mistakes. The hurt. Not being enough. She lets me know that she sees my broken hands. She knows it's hard. I know I will lose her if I don't try.

I am still broken. But I am being repaired. I am trying to tape. To glue. To replace. Often it's wrong. And I slow again. But I know I can be better. I know I can tell the right time more than twice. I know I can do it with her by my side. For her. For me. For meaning. She has saved me. She came just in time.