The year I was six years old, I remember turning the hands of our clock ahead by ten minutes
every so often so the hour to leave for a Sunday School party in the afternoon would come sooner.
My mother, pretending to be none the wiser, dropped me off at the church where I waited on the
steps for the other children, all of whom arrived much later.
As a teenager and then later a young adult with my first job after college, time still moved too
slowly to suit me. It seemed as though I was always waiting for something: the last bell to ring, test
scores to be posted, or the five o’clock whistle.
Aging into my thirties, forties, and fifties, however, Time took on a whole new perspective.
Overnight it became fleeting and scarce. It was suddenly impossible to get everything done on my
daily To Do list. Time became rationed in tiny segments to finding more hours in the day. I collected
countless books, and newspaper and magazine articles about how to organize your home and office,
keep efficient records, and eliminate clutter.
No matter how much advice I gathered from these sources, though, I still worked just as hard,
even to the point of most days waking earlier and going to bed later. I always said yes when friends
called for help with their pet charitable project, asked me to be a room mother, or when local arts
organizations invited me to chair a benefit. I was determined to show Time I had the upper hand!
Now well into my late middle age, and after having eye surgery late last year, I decided it might
just be time to take a different look at Time. Always the perfectionist, I had never allowed myself to
cut corners or let things slide. I quickly found choosing between those things which are and are not
important to accomplish in the days, weeks, or years I have left is definitely not easy.
