The purpose of a wristwatch is not just to keep time, but to experience the passage of time. Wearing a proper timepiece connects us to, and proclaims us worthy inheritors of, the past—a past wherein that universal gesture, a drawn-back shirt cuff and a snap of the wrist, signified that we had something to do, somewhere to be, a prudent respect for the time of our fellows. It was a language transcending frontiers and borders, connecting us across great distances, in a cordial dance of millions of wrists turned skyward, punctuating the course of our daily lives.
Now this all seems to be crumbling steadily away; when we query for time, we grope clumsily in our pockets for large electronic slabs, usually not so much to check the time as to open an app to beg pardon our tardiness and make our excuses. In looking for time, we lose it, to whatever our screens declare as worthy of our attention.
Pray, heed thou this plea: get yourself a proper watch, just one will do, and use it for its purpose. In searching for time thusly, you will better find it, better keep it, maybe even get the better of it.