3. Making the Most of Your Time

I never set out to talk about time as if I had it all figured out. I still don’t. I’ve never seen myself as someone who should be giving advice on productivity or life. What I’m writing comes from a quieter, more personal place. In the later years of my life, I began paying closer attention to how I was spending my days, mostly because I felt time slipping through my hands without leaving much behind. I didn’t want that feeling anymore, so I tried things, failed, adjusted, and slowly found a way of living and working that felt more honest. It helped. That is the only reason I’m sharing this.

The Paradox Scene (Inception, 2010)

Time moves in a way that feels both constant and unpredictable. Whether you notice it or not, it keeps going. Some days feel dense and slow; others disappear before you can even name them. The difference is rarely time itself, it’s your awareness. When you are present, even difficult days feel grounded. When you’re not, entire weeks vanish without leaving a trace. There is a line from Inception that has stayed with me for years: “We’re waiting for a train that will take us far away.” What always struck me about that line is the uncertainty it carries. You don’t know where the train is going, when it will arrive, or what will be waiting on the other side. And yet, you wait. That’s how time often feels. We postpone attention, convinced that clarity belongs to some later moment.

For a long time, I mistook constant motion for progress. As long as my days were full, I assumed I was moving forward. But fullness can be deceptive. There have been periods where every hour was occupied and nothing truly developed. Looking back, I see that avoiding stillness was mistaken for building direction. What shifted things for me wasn’t intensity, but intention. Small goals, repeated quietly, began to matter more than ambitious plans. Modest routines, adjusted over time, created a sense of continuity. There was nothing impressive about it, but it was real, and it held. It’s also important to accept how you actually work, not how you think you should. Focus fades, discipline helps sometimes, and can become self-punishment at others. No structure will support you until it respects your limits instead of denying them.

Teaching as a doctoral researcher has made this even clearer. When you look at students, you often notice a distance from the present moment. There is an unspoken assumption that life will truly begin later. I understand that instinct, because I lived inside it for years. But the irony is painful: the access, the time, and the learning that feel ordinary now often become unreachable later. In Inception, time stretches and folds depending on the level you’re in. That idea feels less like fiction to me now. The way time expands or collapses in our lives seems tied to how deeply we inhabit the moment we’re in. When attention is shallow, time shrinks. When it’s focused, even short periods feel expansive.

Underneath all of this, there are always dreams, not loud ones, not performative ones, but quiet and persistent. When those dreams fade, discipline feels empty. When they return, effort begins to make sense again. Time is no longer something to conquer. It’s something to meet every day, as honestly as possible. Some days you will do it well. Some days you won’t. What matters is noticing when you drift and finding your way back without judgment.

Discover yourself, your limits, your willingness, your persistence, your dreaming, your periods of disciplined work and focus. Note everything, either in your mind or in a notebook. Get to know yourself and progress through each stage gradually. Let your goal be to make every moment meaningful. I mean a life where the seven hours you sleep are truly restful, where the time you take to watch a movie after working hard is fully immersive, and where everything you do is genuinely experienced in that moment, here and now, making your life fully productive in the truest sense.

Over the years, I’ve learned one simple lesson about time, which I want to share: Think of it not just as something that passes, but as a companion. Treat it with respect, and it can offer guidance, growth, and clarity beyond what you might expect. Engage with it patiently, learn how to move alongside it rather than against it, and you’ll discover the value it can bring. But if you approach it absentmindedly, constantly tell it you’re “too busy,” or fail to recognize its true worth, it won’t be of much help. Time can only serve you when you treat it as a partner, not a resource to be consumed thoughtlessly. Time will keep moving forward regardless. Your choice is whether you are present enough to move with it. Next topic: "The Moments"