TIME

Time creates pressure.
We all know it.

“Time is money.”
“Don’t waste time.”
“I don’t have time for that.”

Sentences said so quickly.
And yet they still tighten something inside us.
They pull us in.

Often it feels as if time is running away from us.
As if we are always a little too slow.
Too late.
Too full.
Too stretched.

And at some point, we are simply tired
of always being behind.

Sometimes I wonder:
Can we actually own time?
Hold on to it?
Use it “properly”?

Or is time simply the space we are in right now?

Not yesterday.
Not later.
Now.

If we are honest, we spend a large part of our day
already being at the next thing.
The next appointment.
The next item on the list.
The next “still have to…”

And that is exactly where the pressure begins.
Not because time is scarce.
But because inside, we are already ahead,
while our body is still here.

Every moment carries the chance to notice something, to let go, or to begin.
The art is not having more time,
but sinking more deeply into it.

Do we truly want more lifetime —
or rather a better quality of life?

Many people my age no longer wish for things.
No gifts.
No objects.

They wish for time.
Time together.
Time to talk.
Time simply to be.

That says a lot.

And yet in everyday life we often grow impatient
when time seems to be “lost.”
When someone works slowly.
When something takes longer.
When we have to wait.

I remember a moment many years ago in the Philippines.
I was working in a small resort.
The owner introduced me to his employees.

Two young women were cleaning the bungalows.
They laughed.
They talked.
They worked slowly — but clearly with joy.

My European, efficiency-trained mind thought immediately:
Why doesn’t one start here and the other over there?
Then they would be finished faster.

The owner smiled and said only:
“But then they wouldn’t have any fun at work.”

That sentence stayed with me.

Because it was so simple.
And so different.

Since then, I catch myself more often.
When the handyman takes a break.
When something takes longer than planned.
When someone isn’t as “efficient” as I expect.

And I notice:
The stress doesn’t come from the situation.
It comes from my inner pace.

When I let that go,
things become quieter.
Not perfect.
But quieter.

When the coach prefers to train along with us instead of instructing all the time —
maybe I can simply be glad
that someone enjoys their work.

When a woman at the supermarket checkout starts a conversation
and the line grows longer —
maybe I can see
that someone is receiving a small moment of humanity.

When someone walks slowly.
Or takes longer.
Or doesn’t understand right away —
maybe I don’t need to push.

These thoughts may sound unusual to a Western mindset.
But they unfold a surprising effect:

When we learn, in such moments, to share time instead of controlling it,
our body relaxes.
Our nervous system settles.

Sharing time sometimes means
not rushing.
Not sighing.
Not rolling our eyes on the inside.

It means stopping when someone asks for directions.
Not only pointing.
But walking a little with them.

It means listening when someone wants to tell something —
even if it doesn’t fit right now.

It means offering a stranger a brief moment of attention.
A glance.
A smile.
A sentence.

“Can I help you?”

Often, that is enough.

When a child is whining and the parents look exhausted —
a kind look can bring more relief than we realize.

When someone is sitting on the street —
maybe once not only passing by.
Or giving something quickly.
But asking:
“How are you today?”

Not out of duty.
Not out of pity.
But out of humanity.

Sharing time doesn’t mean dropping everything.
It doesn’t mean always being available.
It only means not moving on so quickly
when someone is there.

I’ve noticed:
When I push less,
something loosens.

In the body.
In the breath.
In the mind.

Time no longer feels like pressure.
It begins to feel like space.

When we don’t only “own” time but share it —
with strangers, with people who live or think differently —
we open ourselves to the moment.

Every small act of attention,
every smile,
every open conversation
gives not only connection to the other,
but also offers us calm, ease, and inner peace.

Those who share experience time differently:
not as pressure,
but as a river
in which we truly live.

And maybe that is the small shift in perspective
that is possible in everyday life.

Not spectacular.
But very quiet.

A little less hurry.
A little more here.

LUMA – it begins in you.