On Sunday, March 9, at 2 a.m. local time, the clock leapt forward by one hour, marking the shift to Daylight Saving Time (DST). This seasonal adjustment is designed to extend evening daylight in summer by setting clocks forward in the spring and back in the fall—hence the mnemonic: “spring forward and fall back.” While golfers may relish the extra light for late afternoon rounds, farmers, whose routines are dictated by their livestock rather than the clock, may view the change less favorably.

Historically, several ancient societies adopted seasonal changes to their timekeeping to make better use of daylight; Roman timekeeping even included changes to water clocks to accommodate this. However, these were changes to the time divisions of the day rather than setting the whole clock forward. In a satirical letter to the editor of the Journal de Paris in 1784, Benjamin Franklin suggested that if Parisians could only wake up earlier in the summer they would economize on candle and oil usage, but he did not propose changing the clocks.  In 1895, New Zealand entomologist and astronomer George Hudson made the first realistic proposal to change clocks by two hours every spring to the Wellington Philosophical Society, but this was not implemented until 1928 and in another form. In 1907, William Willett proposed the adoption of British Summer Time as a way to save energy; although seriously considered by Parliament, it was not implemented until 1916.  Willett’s 1907 proposal illustrates several political issues. It attracted many supporters, including Arthur Balfour, Churchill, David Lloyd George, Ramsay MacDonald, King Edward VII (who used half-hour DST or “Sandringham time” at Sandringham), the managing director of Harrods, and the manager of the National Bank Ltd.

Debates over the merits of DST are longstanding and varied, touching on topics from health and economics to politics, religion, and social customs. Regardless of these arguments, I have always found the transition unsettling. My internal biological clock operates independently, and adapting to an imposed shift is disruptive, particularly as a creature of habit. Some have humorously dubbed DST “Daylight Slaving Time,” reflecting its imposition on the rhythms of daily life. I personally favor standard time, which aligns more closely with nature’s cadence, where an early sunrise heralds the day’s fruitful beginning.

The first implementation of DST was by Port Arthur (today merged into Thunder Bay), in Ontario, Canada, in 1908, but only locally, not nationally. The first nation-wide implementations were by the German and Austro-Hungarian Empires, both starting on 30 April 1916. Since then, many countries have adopted DST at various times, particularly since the 1970s energy crisis.

Today’s transition—conveniently scheduled on a Sunday to ease societal adaptation—unfolded under dreary skies on Hilton Head Island, with intermittent rain predicted throughout the day. My sleep last night was troubled, not only by the clock change but also by the aftermath of an ambitious cycling excursion yesterday. I had ventured from Lands End to Sea Pines Beach Club and back, covering approximately 12 kilometers along the beach. While this might not be a formidable distance for a seasoned cyclist, for me, it proved an ordeal verging on paralysis. The journey began with a precarious passage along the narrow cement walkway to the ocean, followed by a struggle through soft sand to reach the firmer shoreline. At one point upon my return, my difficulty was evident enough that a kind gentleman assisted by pushing my tricycle from behind. The true cost of my exertion was revealed overnight, as my lower limbs contracted painfully, rendering sleep elusive until the eventual relief of Tylenol at 7 a.m.—or rather, at what would have been 6 a.m. before DST took hold. By the time I finally stirred from bed, the day was half gone.

Despite the disruption, we salvaged a semblance of routine with a brief excursion beyond the gates of Sea Pines into the commercial heart of Hilton Head Island. The specifics of our errand need not be detailed, but suffice it to say, we swiftly retreated back to the island’s southern reaches. There, we attempted to restore a sense of normalcy, adhering as best we could to the familiar markers of an afternoon, albeit an hour ahead of their usual schedule. Adjusting to DST is a matter of balance, an uneasy negotiation between nature’s rhythms and the artificial dictates of the clock. Change may be inevitable, but adaptation is not without resistance.

Tomorrow morning will bring a fresh challenge, as I confront the darkness at waking—a stark contrast to the natural light I favor. Some may dismiss this struggle as trivial, but let me remind them, with the greatest respect, that the present moment is all we truly have. Time may govern the day, but the immediacy of experience reigns supreme.