“Time isn’t the main thing. It’s the only thing.” ~Miles Davis When I first read that quote, it hit me right in the chest.
Not because it sounded profound—but because it was something I had been slowly, painfully learning over the course of a very quiet, very long year.
Time used to feel like a race. Or maybe a shadow. Or a trickster. Some days, it slipped through my fingers like water. Other days, it dragged me along like a heavy cart.
But always, it was something outside me—something I was chasing or trying to escape. I spent much of my life impatient. Not in the obvious, tapping-your-foot kind of way, but in the quiet, internal kind of way: the constant sense that something should be happening, or happening faster, or already have happened by now.