Tagore isn't simply telling us to seize the day—he's suggesting that our units of measurement for a life determine its quality. The butterfly's brevity isn't tragic because it measures existence differently, finding completeness in hours rather than decades. When you catch yourself anxious about unfinished projects by next year, notice you're already counting in months; the parent fully absorbed in a child's bath time is counting in moments and feeling, mysteriously, less hurried. The wisdom lies in recognizing that time abundance isn't about length—it's about the grain size of your attention.