We reset our clocks backward and forward twice a year.
Pretty sure it has something to do with the sun and the need to save its light.
How many of us it helps I don’t know.
It’s never saved me anything that I can recall.
But now I’m concerned about saving it.
More and more every day.
Because I’m not sure how much of it, I have left.
It used to be an abundant commodity that I divided into parcels and sold by the hour or the day.
Sales were good.
For nearly half a century I didn’t have enough.
My talent and attention sold for a fee to the highest bidder.
I viewed it as revenue.
Finally, now the time that’s left is all mine.
And I’m not sure what to do with it.
What’s changed in me is the framing of what my time is.
It happened suddenly, this wisdom arriving out of breath like a page with urgent orders.
Time should be allocated with reverence.
Joy first.
Revenue dead last.
Turning the clocks backward and forward is not the answer.
Now, time is like the blank page that looks back at me when Iwrite.
Or an empty canvas that waits on my easel.
After all these years I finally have time.
It’s like landing at the airport in a town you’ve dreamed of visiting for years, and you’ve told all your friends that you just can’t wait.
The plan worked, all the accounts are solid.
It’s time for adventure.
But, hang on, I need another minute…
