When folks hear I write about time management, they picture me as some punctuality wizard with a secret vault of life hacks. Let’s get real—I’ve shown up late to my own talk on the subject. (Kids? Sure, they’re convenient scapegoats. But sometimes it’s just me forgetting my keys.) The truth is, time management isn’t about rigid schedules or squeezing productivity from every stray minute. It’s about time elasticity —the wild, underrated truth that time bends around what we care about most.
Take the woman who discovered her basement flooded. Seven hours vanished that week to plumbers, soggy carpets, and panic. Yet if you’d asked her days earlier to free up seven hours for, say, painting or volunteering, she’d have laughed. But when life demanded it, she found those hours. Time stretches. It’s not about having more of it; it’s about what we pour into the time we’ve got.
This cracks me up because we’re all out here microwaving leftovers for 30 seconds less to “save time,” as if shaving moments off reheating pizza will magically gift us an hour for yoga. One magazine once suggested recording shows to skip ads—voilà, 32 minutes found! But here’s a wild thought: turn off the TV. Suddenly, you’ve got a whole hour to learn guitar or nap. Funny how that works.
The real shift happens when we stop treating time like a shrinking resource and start treating our priorities like emergencies. A friend—who runs a 12-person company and raises six kids—once blew me off for a Thursday interview because she was hiking. When we finally talked, she said, “Everything I do is a choice.” She doesn’t “not have time” for things; she chooses what’s a priority. “I don’t have time” is often code for “this isn’t worth it.” Try swapping that phrase. Instead of “I don’t have time to read,” say, “I don’t prioritize reading.” Feels different, right?
If you’re nodding but thinking, “Easy for her—she’s got help,” hold up. Let’s talk about 168 hours. That’s your week. Full-time job (40 hours), sleep (56)—still leaves 72 hours. Even working 60 hours leaves 52. Where does it go? Scrolling, chores, zoning out. But what if we stole back fragments? That’s the magic of Greg McKeown’s Essentialism—a book that nails this mindset. It’s not about doing more; it’s about doing what matters. Read it when you’re sick of feeling busy but empty.
Here’s a game: pretend it’s next December. Write your future self a holiday letter bragging about your epic year. What three things made it shine? Learning Spanish? Weekly family pancakes? Running that 5K? Now, flip to work—imagine a glowing performance review. What projects rocked? Mentorship? A creative breakthrough? Those six to ten goals? That’s your roadmap.
Now, the sneaky part: schedule them like that broken water heater. Block Friday afternoons (low-pressure time) to plot the week ahead. Split life into career, relationships, self. Jot two priorities per category. Maybe “call Mom” or “try that yoga studio.” Then slot them in—Tuesday lunch for Mom, Wednesday morning for yoga. It’s not glamorous, but it works.
And those scraps of time? Waiting rooms, bus rides, coffee breaks—they’re golden. Read a poem. Text a friend a dumb meme. Breathe for five minutes. Tiny joys add up. Years ago, I commuted via two buses and a subway. Libraries became my sanctuary. I’d grab novels and get lost—turned dreary rides into adventures.
Time’s not the enemy. It’s clay. Mold it around what lights you up. Ditch the guilt over dusty blinds or unwatched shows. Own your choices. Build the life you want, and watch time stretch to hold it. Crazy, huh? But possible. After all, you’ve got 168 hours. How will you spend them?
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