Making Time When None Can Be Found

“Today, like every other day, I wake up empty and frightened. Don’t go to the door of the study and read a book. Instead take down the dulcimer, let the beauty of what you love be what you do. There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground, there are a thousand ways to go home again.” ~ Rumi 

“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
~ Socrates

     Little by little, I realize that nobody ever finds time—time is not lost. Time is actually related to the word “tide” (in Old English tima). It’s not a thing, but something that we experience with our senses. Time is something that we carve out of the rocky schedule or impenetrable wall of activity in which we live.

     I’m coming to accept that time must be attended to, like a garden, or one will surely pay via its drying up; neglect produces parchedness. Time must be nurtured, it must be coddled and affirmed—doing so will ensure it will give back ten-fold.

     So many Americans live lives that are frantically busy, driven by sense of lack, and without reflection. Socrates would roll over in his grave with our general lack of rigorous self-examination. “There’s no time,” we all snap back. “Who has time to examine their choices, their habits, their ways of being with others, their ways of being alone?” Do we ever think about what our busy-ness gives or promises us? Can we afford to live such unexamined lives?

     What would Socrates say? Is this lifestyle of frantic activity (multi-tasking, multi-texting, even while driving) making our lives worth living? “Time is money,” they say. The truth is, time is what we make it to be. It’s like an ordinary piece of fabric—we can make with it a mat to rest upon or a noose to hang ourselves with…it’s up to us.

     At this particular time in my life, I’m making time to write—“just three pages a day,” as The Artist’s Way author Julia Cameron suggests. She calls them “morning pages” because they can start the flow of creativity the first thing in the morning, just like meditation. I’ve called them “mourning pages” because even as a kid they were a kind of lamentation of my half-lived life. If I hang in there with the writing, it usually unearths the shadowy parts of myself that often experience sadness, fear, anger or loss of some kind.

     If you were willing to take responsibility for making time for your reflection, what would you discover? Do you hope to get somewhere else by moving faster through life? Such unexpressed feeling often turns into depression or general moodiness. Everyone benefits when I use my “mourning pages.”

Making This Practice My Own:

I commit to writing three pages a day this week, right after I get up in the morning.

I commit to move my pen on paper—without criticism for what I see during this time. I will not edit my words or thoughts, I will let my imagination run wild with thick description for what I’m feeling, seeing, noticing this moment.

     During this time, I will let my brain drain out onto the page. I will let myself “let it rip” if I want to complain. I will let myself rant if I want to rant. I will let myself be full of self-pity if I want to be full of self-pity—accounting for all the wrongs done to me in my lifetime. If I want to moan, I’ll moan while I do this. If I want to imagine myself in a horror movie, I’ll spell out the details in my morning writing. If I want to imagine myself in some tawdry affair, I’ll not miss one drop of saucy description. If I want to make this one long wish list, for seven whole days, that’s just great.

     How does using time to listen to your unexpressed feelings feel? What’s it like to carve out space for yourself to just exhale—no resistance, no holding back to what you’ve been feeling? Can you bring more of your plucky self (what Buddhist’s call your “original nature”) to what you do in work and love?

Do you need support in sticking with this commitment? I hope to hear from you! Contact me through my blog or my home website!