“If I only had more time…” a voice in my head tells me.
But even as I listen to it I know the fallacy of that thought. There’s never going to be more time than now. Not tomorrow, not in the weekend, not if I stop working and live off my savings. Not even after I retire, if I get that far.
Time is something I make for myself. If I don’t make enough time for the things I want to do, I will become a different self than the self that tries to assert itself. I’ll still be me, but a sad and disappointed version of myself. Never having enough time packs you in a corner. Makes you small.
The excuse of not having enough time has everything to do with the me in my head. The me in my head wants to do more than the me that I am, and to do it better. It’s the me in my head that reproaches me that I don’t do enough. It’s a me steeped in dreams and the imagination. Maybe it’s even the voice of conscience. Conscience is nothing if not the compass that points us toward a fulfilling life.
It takes more than planning to make time. More that a task list. It takes concentration, passion, and clearheadedness. Yet sometimes, simply knowing that you have to make more time is enough to make it. Sometimes, time makes itself. And when that happens, we get to live some of the best days of our lives.
What was the last thing you didn’t have the time to do?