Time. It races. It flies. It takes. It heals. We don’t have much of it and there isn’t enough of it in the day. But we all share an equal amount. God (insert creator of choice) gave each one of us, the gift of 24 hours.
Yet, most of us don’t try to use those precious hours to achieve something that will bring us closer to success, happiness or love. Instead, we rely on: ‘Well, I haven’t got the time for that.’ Everyone has the time to change their life, even those with months left to live. Though their fate may be inescapable, they can achieve things not previously considered. Tick off new adventures on their formerly unimagined bucket list.
I was often heard saying: ‘I’d love to write a book/articles/children’s stories, but with two kids and a business, I just don’t have the time.’ A pathetic, albeit understandable, excuse to hide my laziness and most importantly, my fear. Much safer to stay within the comfy confines of familiarity and routine, than to risk rejection from agents, editors, and even friends and family.
My husband wakes at 5.30am and cycles to the gym. He’s at his desk by 7am and makes the most of every hour in the day. Well, most of them. He’s prone to the occasional 2pm bath and we’re both often seen on our bikes, cycling around the park, at midday. All work and no play…
Where could I be found at 5am? Pillow bound. Trying to silence my nagging mind from persistently speaking to me without invitation:
‘You should be writing. Loser. You’re never going to achieve anything if you hide under the duvet. Get up and……’ And back to sleep I fell. The writing could wait.
My laptop, charged and ready, waited for me patiently every day whilst I busied myself with re-arranging the dining room, clearing out the 2008 tins of peaches and pulses from the kitchen cupboards and searching eBay for Snoopy themed trinkets.
I had the same 24 hours as my husband; as Stephen King, Neil Gaiman and Guillermo del Torro, even President Obama, but I was achieving so much less. So, I made a decision. I challenged myself to stop watching TV. (Homeland was exempt. It was a start). Detaching from social media would be phase 2.
No more time wasted on telly porn. It prevented me from achieving, and kept me firmly on the bean-bag of my comfort zone. An agreeable and familiar place, but ‘there’s no growth in comfort.’
If you tell me you’ve no time to achieve your dreams but you spend hours soaking-up bollocks on Facebook; know precisely what the current line-up is on Strictly Come Dancing or who said what on I’m a Celebrity, you’re lying. To yourself. Get up earlier, go to bed later. Write a poem on the bus, draft a play on the train. Even if you only take one teeny step towards your goal, at least it’ll be one step forward. Otherwise, you’ll for ever be the Old Boot stuck on the ‘Start’ watching the Top Hat, the Dog and the Ship race ahead. And who wants to depart this life just another Old Boot?
‘Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.’