No Time For This Title, Sorry!
Time? What Time?!
You know that feeling? When you really want to do something quiet, just… sit down, breathe, stare at a wall if necessary — but your brain already starts screaming:
“NO! NO TIME! YOU HAVE TO DO THINGS! FAST!!”
And then you’re finally sitting on the couch, thinking: “Ahhh, nice…” And suddenly BAM!
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
The washing machine is done. The kid is screaming. The phone is vibrating. The cat is puking on the bed. And you think: “I have to write this down.” But even then… NO TIME.
Seriously, I’d already tried to write this three times. The first time: I had to go to work. The second time: the kid had put a sock in the microwave. The third time: I thought, now I’m going to make it… But then my wife suddenly started talking about moving.
And so now, NOW I’m sitting here… with a long-cold cup of coffee… fingers on the keyboard… eyes like two grapes in the sun… And I think: “Wait a minute… what was this piece about again?” Oh yeah! That I don’t have time for anything anymore.
Well, that’s it. Welcome to my story. Sit back. Or no, wait, NOT too far! You’ll fall asleep, and you don’t have time for that at all.
The alarm clock: my personal god of terror
So you think: “Well, I’m going to bed nice and early, tomorrow will be MY day. MY time. Just breathe, just… live.”
HAHAHA.
6:30 AM. BANG. Alarm. BAM! The alarm: in my case, my smartwatch vibrating like a… yes, one of those things. And all this while I was dreaming I was on a tropical island, no kids, no job, no responsibilities, just me and a coconut with a straw in it. But no.
I wake up in a dark house with eyes that refuse to open. And then I jump out of bed. Or well… I roll out, hoping I don’t pull something. I have to get dressed, dress the kids, make breakfast for myself, make breakfast for the kids, and in the meantime, lose my shoes, lose my bag, lose everything except my patience, because I’ve lost that a long time ago.
And all of this… before 7:45 AM. WHY?! Who came up with this schedule? Was this a voluntary registration? Did I accidentally say “yes” to a Google Form somewhere:
“Do you want to squeeze your whole life into short time blocks?”
Yes? No? Oops… too late. It’s already started.
And the best part is: this is just the beginning of the day. Nothing accomplished yet… but I already feel like I’ve survived three marathons, a surprise party, and an episode of Help, My Husband Is Time-Stressed.
And that’s just the beginning.
Work: the moment you leave home to catch your breath
So… survived the morning circus. Dressed, lunchboxes full, keys found where they never belong (how did they get in the toaster?!), dropped off the kids with just one tantrum and half a banana on my sweater.
I think: “Right… a bit of peace.” A little work…
Uh, no. Because work isn’t rest. Work is like an extended rollercoaster ride without the handlebars. I’m in a Teams meeting while my other meeting is still going, and meanwhile my colleague is trying to explain something about a “Q3 delivery window in the new deployment cycle,” and all I think is: “What are you even saying?” But I just nod because that’s professional and mature. And nobody has time to really understand what’s happening, right?
And I know: I should really take a break on a regular basis. Or a walk. Some fresh air. I do that regularly actually. But what also happens sometimes is that I scroll. On this platform for example. Or I still send emails. And then I suddenly remember a vague idea I once had about “finding a balance between work and life” and I have to laugh out loud (but only internally). Because externally I’m in the office with other colleagues, and if I laugh now, people think I’m having a nervous breakdown.
And then suddenly it’s 5:00 PM. Or actually… 4:52 PM. Because that’s when the real work begins.
At home.
Family time: Quality over quantity? But how?!
I’m coming home. Or well… I’m arriving. Home sounds like something peaceful, cozy, warm light, a cup of coffee, a soft blanket… But no. What I get is a combination of a movie, a cooking competition, and a disaster training session.
“DADDY! MY BROTHER IS BULLYING ME!”
“DARLING, WHAT ARE WE EATING TODAY?!”
“WHERE ARE MY SOCKS?!”
“THE CAT HAS POOPED IN THE PLANT AGAIN!”
And I’m standing there. With my bag still in one hand. My soul in the other.
I’m trying to ‘really be there.’ I’d promised myself: “Today I’m going to consciously make time for the family.” But how? When? Between chopping the peppers and pulling two bickering children apart? Between “you have to finish your plate” and “why is your coat hanging on the lamp again?!”
And then you try to sit down for a moment. Just some real connection. Your child wants to tell you something. You nod. Listen. Until someone shouts:
“YOUR PAN IS BURNING!”
Well, there goes your moment. Quality time has turned into a kind of military operation. And meanwhile, you hear that inner voice again…
“After dinner, I’m really going to take some time for myself.” HA! Funny joke.
Housework: The final boss of your free time
Okay, kids in bed? Almost? Halfway? Never mind. Time to… TIDY UP!
Because I don’t know about you, but in my case it really does feel like my house is in a permanent state of self-destruction. It’s always a mess everywhere. Clothes seem to multiply when I’m not looking. My kitchen counter always looks like there’s been a food fight between Gordon Ramsay and one of my kids. And me? I’m the cleaning crew, the laundry service, the dishwashing robot, and the human Swiffer all rolled into one!
And the weirdest thing is: no one notices anything when it’s clean. But if there’s a single crumb on the couch, you immediately hear: “Ouch, we still have to vacuum today…”
Oh yeah?! You know what I’d like? That the house will say, “Good job today, man. Classy for getting that sock out of the lamp. Hats off to you. And that the toilet is nice and clean again? Pure art.”
But no. You know what I get? A full laundry basket that I just emptied. It’s like magic. Or a curse. Dark forces at work. As if the laundry was waiting for me to leave, and then said, “Come on, guys, he’s gone to the bathroom! QUICK! Throw everything back in!!”
And meanwhile, I try to do everything quickly because I still want to exercise. Or shower. Or live. But you can tell… The clock says it’s already 9:42 PM…
My eyes say: STOP
My back says: YOU NEED A NEW ONE
And my head says: “Sit down for a bit. Just nothing for a bit. Just…”
But first, that one thing. Always that one thing… Just like that one article that still needs to be written. Like this one.
Working out: My only me-time (but out of breath)
So when I think late at night, “Now’s my time. My moment. Just recharge for a bit.” And what do I choose?
Exercise. Move. Sweat. Suffer.
Why?! I have no idea. It just has to be. It’s part of life. At least, part of my life. I’ve already worked too hard on my current state of fitness to let that go to waste. In fact, it would be if I didn’t exercise. If I say, “I’m going to lie on the couch for an hour with a book,” I get a reaction like, “Uh… are you okay?”
And all this while I’m also trying to watch some Netflix in between these days. But if I say, “I’m going for a run in the rain, with sore muscles from yesterday and my left foot full of blisters,” everyone shouts, “Wow! Good job, man!! Discipline! Respect!”
So yes, I put on my workout clothes. I’m standing there in the living room in an outfit that says, “I’m going to improve my life.” But my face says: “I just want cookies and a blanket.” A figurative blanket of course because it’s summer here in the Netherlands.
So I go anyway. I push myself. Push-ups, squats, burpees, weight training, or I run myself into a coma through the city. And somewhere… yes, somewhere I feel proud too. Until I’m done. Then I get home and think: “Okay. That was my moment for myself. That was my peace.”
And then I look at the clock: 11:03 PM. I still have to shower. I still have to wash my workout clothes. I still have to eat something high in protein. I still have to replenish 2 liters of sweated-out fluid. I still have to… do all sorts of things.
What I really want is sleep. Rest. Just nothing at all. 😅
The illusion of “Tomorrow I’ll really take my time.”
Tomorrow.
That magic word you pour everything you can’t manage into today.
Tomorrow you’ll get up early.
Tomorrow you’ll meditate.
Tomorrow you won’t rush.
Tomorrow you’ll be a Zen Buddhist with a tight schedule and a tidy house.
Until the alarm goes off again. Until the whole circus starts all over again.
And suddenly you realize: “Wait a minute… this is just going to keep going, isn’t it?” A moment of peace doesn’t just come by itself. A day doesn’t suddenly arrive when everything is finished and you can lean back with a coconut in your hand.
No one takes time for you.
You have to reclaim it yourself.
If necessary, with a laser gun and a to-do list as a shield.
Or… maybe sometimes it’s enough to say:
“No. Not now. This moment is mine for a while.”
Just a few minutes. To sit. To breathe. To have nothing to do.
Not tomorrow. Not later.
Now.
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Oh my goodness -- what a day / nightmare -- I agree with you -- carve out 5 minutes for yourself and keep adding to it -- I don`t know how you survive : (((