Three Minutes and Thirty-Two Seconds

I spent much of today working on music, which is something I usually enjoy very much.  Today, however, I had a bit of trouble with an aspect of my work that I haven't come across before.  In the past, I've composed music purely for myself--it was always an artistic expression, nothing more.  But recently I took on a project writing music for a short film a friend of mine is shooting, and suddenly I have to deal with time.

Of course there is time in all music--without it, music just doesn't exist.  But I've never before had to fit music to a specific span of time, and it is more difficult than you would think.  Music is so elastic, so changeable, that each repetition can be and usually is different, and either longer or shorter than the time before.  Repetitions, ritardandos and accelerandos, mistakes, and pure, simple artistic expression all can make a difference in the minute and second count of a piece of music.

It makes me wonder--if I can't get a song to fit into a certain length of time, how on earth can I expect time to measure out my life?  I write out schedules for myself, spending an hour writing, an hour break, an hour with music, etc, but I find myself straying from the schedule after a matter of days, if not a matter of hours.  So often, we want things to fit neatly into the set parameters of organization, but the human mind, the human life is not neat.  It is chaotic and harmonious and free and beautiful, and it takes as long as it takes.