Last week, my mother sent me a 50-minute film clip.
Yesterday on the phone, she asked if I’d watched it. I haven’t had time, I said.
Which isn’t true.
What is true is that I haven’t made time. I haven’t made it a priority to give over 50 minutes of my day to it.
But I cast time as the villain and I as the victim. Like I didn’t choose how to spend time, but time chose how to spend me. Because I’m busy, busy, busy, which means I’m important, important, important.
Time usage is an art form. And not one I’ve perfected.
I can treat time like money: I spend it, waste it, save it. But none of that does time – our finite time – justice.
“Time,” wrote author Zadie Smith in the acknowledgments of On Beauty, “is how you spend your love.”
Our love is not cheap. Our time is not cheap. And, as it has been said, unlike money, we can’t make more time.
Something that precious deserves the truth. It deserves to be spent as a reflection of our love.
I will watch the 50-minute clip. Or I won’t. But I will try to be honest with my choice, honest with my love.
We are busy. We are important. But we must choose what makes us busy. And what makes life important.