Trevor’s Time in Meadowridge — where clocks of every shape and age wait patiently for a new tick of life. Seen through rain-speckled glass on a winter’s afternoon.
It was one of those perfect Cape Town winter days — the sort where you congratulate yourself for owning a decent coat. The rain was pelting down, the wind had ideas of its own, and I was leaning into it all when I ducked into a small shopping centre in Meadowridge. Not because I needed anything in particular — just to get out of the weather and collect my thoughts.
That’s when I saw it: a watchmaker’s shop. It was three in the afternoon, so of course the door was shut, the lights off. But I pressed my face to the glass like a child at a sweet shop, and there it was — a whole room of time.
Old clocks covered the walls, perched on shelves, sat patiently on the floor. Some I remembered from years ago, others looked as if they had survived more birthdays than I could count. Without even stepping inside, I could feel that this was a place where time was not just measured, but kept. I’ve made a mental note to go back on a sunnier day to chat to the owner — watchmakers, in my experience, are always good conversationalists.
Later that afternoon, with a cup of coffee warming my hands, I stumbled upon the summary of a book called Felt Time: The Psychology of How We Perceive Time by Marc Wittmann. His big idea? Time speeds up when you lose yourself in something — a concert, a good book, even folding laundry if you’re that way inclined. But when you’re stuck, aware of nothing except your own discomfort, it slows to a crawl.
He says we live in “three-second presents,” which our brains stitch together into the seamless movie of our lives. As we age, life seems to accelerate, partly because we stop collecting brand-new, attention-grabbing experiences. His advice: slow down, savour the present, and try something new if you want time to feel more generous.
I think he’s right. Perhaps it’s not just about years or metabolism, but how much of ourselves we pour into each moment. Which makes me think I really should have braved the rain, rattled the watchmaker’s door, and asked him what time it was — not because I needed to know, but because sometimes the moment itself is worth keeping.
Anyway, I’ve already taken up enough of your time. Spend yours wisely today — and maybe even find a way to make it last a little longer.
