On Timing

Here's a thought experiment that's been bouncing around in my head lately, and I apologize in advance for its rather morbid nature: What is the worst day you could be diagnosed with terminal cancer?

You first thought might be your birthday or Christmas, but I beg to differ. On those days, you have the full support of your friends and family, ready to comfort you. No, I submit that the worst time to receive this news would be on April Fool's Day.

The first of April is a cutural construct that immediately demolishes any trust between you and your companions, replacing it with a pervasive, resonant paranoia that refuses to go away. Not only are your words worthless on April Fool's Day, you also have to suffer through others' merriment and hilarious pranking while staring death in the face.

In fact, April Fool's Day changes a lot of things. If the September 11 terrorist attacks had happened on the first of April, I feel like the American cultural landscape would be very different. I imagine a cruel god ruling this universe, laughing at his own brilliance, already planning his next big caprice.

My point is this: Timing is everything. An Olympic sprinter trains his whole life, gives up his favorite foods and activities, relentlessly pushes his body to the limit every day, undergoes a grueling exercise regimen that sacrifices his friends and family, takes steroids to further enhance his performance, risking everything -- then on the day it counts, he starts a tenth of a second too early and gets disqualified. He starts a tenth of a second too late and loses.

Computers designed for trading stocks know when a particular stock is worth .01 cents more in Chicago than in New York. They will buy millions of shares of this stock in New York, then immediately resell them in Chicago. This price disparity only exists for nanoseconds. A single miscalculation in price, and investors lose millions of dollars in less time than it takes for you to blink your eyes.

A surgeon coughs while performing a delicate surgery and kills the patient. A woman is late for her train by two seconds and meets the love of her life at the station. James Earl Ray blinks and misses his shot on Martin Luther King, Jr. Every millisecond is the same length of time as any other millisecond, but some of them have the capacity to alter the course of human history.

What's the takeaway here? Attentiveness. Focus. Importance. Each of your milliseconds matter. Make the most of them.

-Me