It’s That Time of Year

Picture this: you’re on the subway, stressing out because you’re already 10 minutes late to school. Maybe your mom made you help your little brother put on his shoes (which always takes forever), or maybe you were so tired from staying up all night studying that you took a few extra (read: dozen) minutes to wake up. In any case, you’re at risk of being called out in front of your entire first-period class for your tardiness, and your heart is beating increasingly faster as you obsessively check the clock, wishing you could turn it back.

The concept of time is largely intangible yet incredibly powerful. It completely governs our lives, though we only really notice its existence when it causes us stress. As New Yorkers, we’re used to this feeling. There’s a reason our city is known as “the city that never sleeps.” At all hours, people are rushing around trying to get to their destinations on time.

In America, time is a currency. Our vocabulary includes phrases like “wasting time,” “spending time,” “losing time,” and the like. It isn’t even subtle: think about the common saying that “time is money.” And because we’re used to this perception of time as something to only be lost or saved, it’s difficult to imagine that other countries could treat time differently and not as a stressor.

Before this past summer, which I spent in Morocco, I never thought about how my own culture’s perception of time affected my life. I knew, of course, that I would find many aspects of Moroccan culture new or different, but I didn’t even think to imagine that perception of time could be part of that. But slowly, I started to notice. When I was walking with my host family, they would stop and exchange pleasantries with everyone they ran into, irrespective of whether or not they had somewhere to be. Yes, we were often a couple of minutes late to appointments or plans, but it didn’t seem to matter. Lateness seemed to be expected, and meeting times were more like suggestions than strict deadlines. After noticing this, I asked my teacher about it, and he told me a common Moroccan saying—an Arabic proverb—which goes, “One has all the necessary time to make it in life.”

I found this to be an excellent reflection of what I had observed over those past few weeks. I liked the idea that human interaction was more important than arbitrarily set deadlines or appointment times. The proverb also implies the uselessness of treating life like a race: time isn’t something to lose or waste, nor is it something that causes undue stress. As such, it should not be allowed to govern one’s life.

This view of time is called “multi-active time,” and its name comes from the linguist and world traveler Richard Lewis. He defined people who follow this concept as those who plan “their priorities not according to a time schedule but according to the relative thrill or importance that each appointment brings with it.” Multi-active time is observed primarily in Arab, African, and Latin American countries.

Multi-active time is essentially the polar opposite of the strictly linear American view of time. Lewis describes linear time as the belief in time as something that must be completely planned out lest it slip away forever. Time is not something to be trifled with in linear time cultures and must thus be meticulously planned out; timetables, schedules, and agendas are regarded as being of the utmost importance. For people who live in multi-active time systems, though, the idea of adhering to a strict schedule is strange and almost amusing.

Moroccan café culture is the perfect embodiment of this idea of multi-active time. Cafés are sacred places for socializing with friends and strangers and watching the world go by. The tables are often placed outside or right by a window, and the seats always face the street. People will spend hours there, just enjoying life and being with friends. And you’ll seldom find a clock in a Moroccan café.

Now that I’m back from Morocco, I’m all too aware of the bustle of New York City, and I’ve stopped looking at the busy culture of the Big Apple as something favorable or desirable. Sometimes I want nothing more than to scold all those people running around, worried above all else about wasting time. I want to tell them that there’s more to life than being on time and getting the most things done in the least amount of time. They may have checked everything off their checklists at the end of the day (or night), but if it’s at the expense of their happiness and human connections, what’s the point?

At the beginning of the school year, as I entered the subway station on my way to meet a friend, I saw the arrival time monitor by the turnstiles flashing the familiar “0 mins” warning. Doing some quick calculations, I realized that I’d be able to make it onto the train before the doors closed (despite the platform being several flights below the turnstile) if I sprinted. So I sighed and began racing toward the train, which I could already see pulling in. As I raced down the platform, bag banging against my back and the sole of my worn right sneaker flopping around, almost tripping me, I had a bit of an epiphany. Why am I doing this? What’s the point of putting myself through this stress? So I simply stopped running. I waited for the next train and texted my friend that I’d be a couple of minutes late. And guess what? It wasn’t the end of the world. I alleviated a little of my own stress, and nothing bad came of it.

Now when I leave school, I don’t shove my earphones in and half run to the station. I take a second to just smell the winter air. When I walk around the city, I’m more aware of everyone around me as well as their existence as human beings. I’ve stopped treating them just as obstacles to shove past while rushing off somewhere. My time in Morocco let me appreciate being alive in this incredible city. I believe we’d all be enjoying life a little more if we took a page out of the book of Moroccan café culture.