Have you got the time?
I don’t mean stop and look at your watch (not that anyone has watches these days). I mean have you got the time to do what you need to do? To be who you want to be?
That question of ‘have you got the time?’ can land in different ways depending on your stage of life. You may find yourself in the trenches of early motherhood, where the nights stretch like elastic and the days blur into a monotony of feeding and changing. Simultaneously wanting aspects of your existence to hurry up, and wanting to press pause to soak that tiny person in a little longer. Or maybe your kids are long since grown and flown, and time opens up into a different dimension. I find myself, an older mother (to whom the hideous phrase elderly primigravida1 applied when I was pregnant), post menopausal at a time when my daughter is on the wild trip of puberty, and with elderly parents to care for. So my time takes on a poignant quality.
I don’t know where this note will find you. You may not have a school aged child. You may not have children at all. But I hope you may relate to a sense of incredible optimism about all the things you might possibly achieve, if only you had the time.
If only…
‘If only I had the time’ I find myself thinking. Except this kind of thinking isn’t really thinking. My rational brain has checked out as soon as I utter these words. It isn’t thinking, it is complete longing. If only… If only…
I somehow intuit that I could be a much better person, living a more fulfilled life, if only I had the time.
"If only, if only," the woodpecker sighs,
The bark of the tree was as soft as the skies.
The wolf sits below, hungry and lonely.
He cries to the moon,"If only, if only."
— Louis Sachar
Just like the woodpecker wanting a tree with soft bark, my longing for more time is really a sigh for something that doesn’t exist. No amount of productivity hacks or time management tools are going to offer up more hours in the day.
I have to be okay with the time I’ve been given. There it is, just ticking along, not trying to piss me off. It’s only when I try to squeeze every last drop of meaningful or productive juice out of the fruit of a new day that I feel so parched.
Perhaps I’m stretching the metaphor, but my days can feel like satsumas you’ve kept too long at the back of the fridge. They look plump and shiny and inviting. But when you peel them, the segments inside are slightly dry and full of pith. The problem isn’t the fruit. The problem is my expectation.
Holiday amnesia
School holidays induce a peculiar kind of amnesia in me. I forget what it’s like. The lack of routine. The late bedtimes. The need for constant snacks. The random playdates and endless trips to the park. The driving to National Trust properties to take part in supposedly educational activities along with 350,000,000 other families. The giving in to being pestered for a McDonalds. The bedroom hopscotch that takes place on sleepovers. The impossible conundrum of trying to find somewhere that isn’t too deathly dull for an 11 year old, but with wide accessible pavements and plenty of places to sit for my mum, who finds it difficult to walk. The assembling of a stunt kite in the boot of the car. Only to find that the wind brings heavy rain clouds that force us back into the car, where we sit with windows steaming up at the scenic viewpoint.
In this peculiar kind of amnesia, I think that I will have more time. I will have more time, even though I am still working and I have no childcare. Because time suddenly assumes expansive proportions when viewed through the lens of the holidays. I think that I will finish the umpteen books I have started. I am optimistic about the possibility of organising the cupboard where all the towels and bedding have been chucked haphazardly for the past 6 months. I intend to cook wholesome meals from scratch, including a Yotam Ottolenghi recipe with 15 different ingredients that are not readily available in my local supermarket. I imagine that I will write insightful and erudite articles for you, dear readers. I even dreamt that I wrote a whole piece last night then woke to find it didn’t exist.
So instead, you get this. My half baked ramblings that veer from tragi-comic to somewhat profound. For goodness’ sake - time - the topic is vast, how can I ever do it justice in a Substack post? Stick with me…
Photo by Kelvin Ball on Unsplash
Productivity trap
Much of the source of my ‘if only’ thinking is that I feel under pressure to make every minute count. In the Western world we are constantly exhorted to live our best lives. To work hard, be present for our families, and have an active social life. All while being self contained, not needing help, nor social support. The ‘perfect mother myth’ thrives in this kind of culture. There’s always a nagging sense that we could be doing more, should be doing more. It keeps us busy and overwhelmed. Not enjoying the time we have. Individuals sacrificing themselves for the greater good. Worker bees without the hive.
This is a topic I will return to in future, as it deserves a much longer post, and right now… well, right now, I don’t have the time!
Savouring time
So back to the topic in hand, which is really just a musing on my relationship to time. On the one hand, I can feel a rich full belly of time when I truly slow down and savour the moment. There is no hurry. Everything is unfolding exactly as it should2. On the other hand, I can feel such a ridiculous sense of pressure to be in the moment that I simply can’t.
The idea of ‘making the most’ of the time we are given seems to me to be the issue. That’s where the pressure lies for me, at least. But what if we simply need to get comfortable with ‘expecting the least’ of the time we are given? Not having expectations opens a space to savouring what is actually here.
Many of the moments in my day are pretty mundane. In a moment I will get up from writing this to let the dog out because she is scratching at the door. I will get distracted by checking whether the washing is dry or not. I will make a mental note to get the prescriptions ready to drop in to the pharmacy tomorrow. I will rummage through the fridge to find what’s there for lunch and probably find those old satsumas.
Mary Oliver writes about this sense of interrupting yourself mid flow, and the ordinariness of time. Have a look at the quote below. If you read the full piece, she is arguing for the need to honour your creative power and give it space free of distractions. However, the thing I love the most about her insight here is that the magic of creativity exists alongside the need to “eat, speak, sleep, cross a street, wash a dish!”
The clock! That twelve-figured moon skull, that white spider belly! How serenely the hands move with their filigree pointers, and how steadily! Twelve hours, and twelve hours, and begin again! Eat, speak, sleep, cross a street, wash a dish! The clock is still ticking. All its vistas are just so broad—are regular. (Notice that word.) Every day, twelve little bins in which to order disorderly life, and even more disorderly thought. The town’s clock cries out, and the face on every wrist hums or shines; the world keeps pace with itself. Another day is passing, a regular and ordinary day. (Notice that word also.)”
From ‘Of Power and Time’ by Mary Oliver
Yes, sometimes we need to put down the dishes to attend to something more beautiful and profound. But most often I think my creative power as a mother exists in the very ordinary life I am building to make a regular rhythm and presence for my daughter. There are clean clothes. Snacks will be replenished. Bedtime cuddles are always available. This is no less valuable than the ‘memory making’ days out or time spent communing with nature.
I started by asking ‘have you got the time’ to do what you need to do, or be who you want to be? Time is motoring along, and you are most likely busy doing all the things. Perhaps that frustrates you. Perhaps you would love (as I will admit I would) more time to yourself. Perhaps that’s the nub of it, really.
But I want to acknowledge that there is still being in the doing. Being doesn’t require you to sit on a cushion for hours in meditation. Being just requires you to notice. It’s okay to be making yet another packed lunch. The crusts cut off the bread. Exactly the right variety of processed cheese. The apple because you want to include at least one of their 5 a day. The hidden Creme Egg because you like there to be an element of surprise. The juice carton. Making a packed lunch is a moving meditation. This is love in action. This is enough for now.
Photo by Adrien King on Unsplash
Special time
When my daughter was little, I used to quench her insatiable need for me by offering ‘special time’ each day3. I would set an egg timer for 15 minutes and sit down and be immersed in completely child-led play. I would do a voice over for all the teddies and dolls at the tea party. I would dance to the tinny tunes and random beats selected by her as DJ on a battery powered keyboard. I would overcome my resistance to mess and reach for the glue sticks and glitter shakers.
Those 15 minutes sometimes felt intolerable. I had so much to do. I was touched out and in need of space. I was incapable of much enthusiasm for another tea party scenario. At other times, that short burst of focussed attention opened up a sense of being in the moment that was as freeing for me and it was nourishing for her. It made the rest of the day flow somehow. She was more content. I was more available.
This makes me wonder. I wonder if a simple practice might be to gift myself some special time. Just 15 minutes to do whatever I want to do each day, guilt free. It’s a micro equivalent of the artist date recommended by Julia Cameron in her classic book ‘The Artist’s Way’. In it, she says:
“An artist date is a block of time, perhaps two hours weekly, especially set aside and committed to nurturing your creative consciousness, your inner artist. In its most primary form, the artist date is an excursion, a play date that you pre-plan and defend against all interlopers. You do not take anyone on this artist date but you and your inner artist, a.k.a. your creative child. That means no lovers, friends, spouses, children - no taggers-on of any stripe.”
So this will be my experiment to Tether & Tend for the rest of the school holiday. To ring-fence a daily sliver of time and see what happens. To gift myself some minutes with no expectation. No multi-tasking. No tidying up. No responding to messages. No distractions. And what a gift that will be. A glistening, truly juicy, orange segment ready to be picked and eaten. Even savoured.
If you want to join me in cultivating some simple practices to help you to
become more aware of your thoughts
find a sense of grounding and safety in your body
soothe your nervous system
then watch this space, because I’m launching a mini course soon.
It is called Growing Present and it will be available for paid subscribers from the week beginning 22 April onwards.
Each week will include a short video to explain the practice, a one page reminder, and a guided audio.
Questions for exploration
(either in your journal, or here below if you feel called to comment or reply to this email - I’d love to hear from you!)
What is your relationship to time?
Do you feel a pressure to ‘make the most’ of every second?
When does time take on a softer or more generous feel in your life?
Would you feel able to gift yourself 15 minutes each day? Or does even that seem a remote possibility?
As always, just a reminder that this Substack isn’t therapy or coaching. If this brings up stuff that is triggering for you or that you need to process further, please seek the support of qualified professional.
I offer 1:1 sessions in my Therapeutic Coaching practice, which you can find out more about here. I specialise in working with mothers, so my website references this, but I do also see a wide range of clients with different issues.
A term used to refer to women aged over 35 years who were embarking upon their first pregnancy.
“And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.” From Desiderata by Max Ehrmann.
Special time is a concept taken from Hand in Hand parenting resources. It’s something I love to share with frazzled parents because it is so simple and yet can often change the dynamic with your child(ren) in a lasting way. You can read more about it in Listen: Five Simple Tools To Meet Your Everyday Parenting Challenges by Patty Wipfler and Tosha Schore.
I need this reminder today, as my morning “me” time was interrupted by my adult son waking hours before his usual. Deep grounding to remind myself to be present for this day, this morning, this adjusted time. There’s always tomorrow…perhaps!
I love the 15 minute timer idea. I am home with my child all day, and I work from home. I find all the endless needs of everything else leaves him crying for me a lot. I am going to try this out and see if it offers more flow to our day!