We like to think we have time — that tomorrow or next year we’ll finally sit down and give life to the things that matter most. But time has never been ours to control. This piece is a reminder, to myself as much as anyone, of what’s lost when we wait, and what’s possible when we stop waiting.
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I’m certain I’ve written about this several times over the years, but it comes to mind again today as I’m walking one of my usual circuits. Listening to an interesting podcast, the synthetic mind is working overtime in the background, trying to intrude and interrupt, while the natural mind waits patiently for some sort of pause — some moment when I might be aware enough to hear what I desperately need to hear. Something that might alleviate the stress, worry, anxiety, and consternation around what I want, what I should be pursuing, and where I’m going next.
We think we have time. We think we can schedule things for months or weeks down the road, that one day we’ll finally have the time to focus on a passion project, or something that’s been delayed and deferred for five, ten, even twenty years. We tell ourselves that one day, when situations align, we’ll be able to sit down and finally give it some love and attention — to complete it, or at least move it forward a few steps. But that’s one of the biggest lies we tell ourselves.
We simply don’t have the time. Even if we’re shut-ins, isolated from the world, there are still ways we could prematurely meet our demise. And if we go out into the world, there are countless ways our avatar could be retired or expired — by accident, by self-induced trauma, by error in judgment, what have you.
I myself have been in situations where I could have, or should have, died at least fifteen times in this lifetime. Probably more. I likely don’t consciously remember some of them, or I’ve blocked them out due to the nature and circumstances. So it’s silly to think we have all the time in the world, or that things will ever be perfect — ripe and ready — and that we ourselves will have the presence of mind, capability, and capacity in that scheduled moment to sit with what we’re moved to do. To enter training or apprenticeship, or to put on our autodidact hat and learn what we’ve always wanted to learn. It simply doesn’t work that way.
It’s never going to be perfect, so just get to it. It’s a sentiment shared by many artists through the ages, who have come to this realization only after struggling, suffering, and pushing through challenges to pursue their craft, passions, or creative outlets. This path tends to favor those of a creative bent — artists, writers, athletes — though many others discover their talents in trade, mentorship, or education. Regardless of the path, ideally we find ways to explore, experiment, and experience before our time runs out.
Because we simply don’t know when the end will come. We don’t know the circumstances of our story’s final chapter. And when that moment comes, many will make excuses, summon regrets, and rue the final moments as the mind or body falters. You’ll regret the times you envied others — people with less experience or fewer qualifications — who nevertheless found the courage to succeed where you never dared to try.
It’s true: the intellectuals, the highly analytical among us, tend to struggle more with this. We can see too many details, analyze endlessly, research obsessively, and overwhelm ourselves with information. We prepare, prepare, prepare ad nauseam — and yet stumble, if we even take the first few steps at all.
So, to oversimplify: take a hint from the so-called fools and simpletons. Take a cue from those you may judge as unqualified. Orson Welles himself once said it was blind ignorance that allowed him to achieve such success in filmmaking and storytelling — success that inspired generations. Just as some children now are learning to read blindfolded, uncovering latent capacities beaten out of most of us, perhaps we, too, must adopt this premise. Put on a blindfold. Start walking. Stumble forward. Fuck around and find out.
Because you don’t have the time. The world will keep throwing nonsense at you. Manufactured crises will come from every angle, attacking everything you hold dear, weaponizing your beliefs and accepted ideas — your ontology and epistemology — against you. It will weaponize your language, your faith, your emotions, and your psychology. That is what this world will do to you, and, perhaps, for you.
Because in every struggle, within every suffering, lie opportunities. Pivot points. Inflection points. Obvious chances to choose for yourself to see the world, this reality, in a completely new way — with brand-new eyes. Or perhaps, with your original sight.
Don’t be blinded by your intellectualism. Don’t be trapped by the epistemic capture we’ve all been subjected to. If you’ve endured years of public education indoctrination, you have a lot of unlearning to do. You’ve been handed a world of inversion and distortion. Every significant pillar of life has been twisted and misrepresented. And perhaps you’ve carried those ideas forward, spreading them to others, whether children or peers, who expect wisdom from you.
This world will offer you all manners of distraction and escape. It will pull at your heartstrings, fatiguing you from the inside out. You’ll see anger, cruelty, violence, and be convinced that’s all there is. Or you’ll see the opposite — you’ll lean into love and light, faith and belief, the serenity of nature. Both are true, for life itself is paradox. Until you accept this, you’ll always be in conflict — with yourself, with others, with the world.
Your time in this ship-in-a-bottle reality is limited. What did you come here to do? You knew everything about it before you entered. You can blame dark entities, overlords, parasitic forces, and make excuses through every belief system — but some part of you always knows. The original spark, the immortal within, never lets you get away with it. You cannot lie to yourself. So choose better. Align with what is authentic, real, and true, or suffer needlessly.
Pain, suffering, and fear are guaranteed here. They’ll eat up all your resources if you let them. Or you can reframe them. I’ve said it before: we must take back our agency, autonomy, and authority. Authorship is critical — essential — to reconnect with our deeper knowing. To live from within, from the inside out, we must dispel the illusions and stop lying to ourselves.
As long as we’re comfortable lying to ourselves, we’ll justify lying to everyone else — our children, strangers, anyone.
Things will never be perfect. Things will never be ideal. Just do it. Just be it. Get busy becoming. Get busy unlearning and remembering. Get busy embodying who and what you really are. Slough off the inversions and distortions. Hone your discernment so you can see them quickly and waste far less time chasing illusions. Discover the fakery, close the chapter, put the book on the shelf, move on. You don’t need to keep researching. You don’t need to waste more time justifying. It’s fake. Stop wasting your time. On to the next thing.
Eventually everything reduces to authenticity, the first principle. The sooner you arrive there, the more time, energy, and capacity you’ll have to pursue what truly fulfills you, moves you, and satisfies your soul’s urgings. Life will be gone before you know it.
Solvitur ambulando
Relevant Books & Reads
- When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi
- The War of Art by Steven Pressfield
- Awaken the Giant Within by Tony Robbins (on action vs delay)
- Awaken the Immortal Within by Jason Breshears (small but resonant)
- Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
- The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer
- The Pilgrimage by Paulo Coelho