The Time We Have: Finding Joy in the Present

As we step into a new year, I find myself reflecting deeply on the concept of time. This reflection is not new; it has been a recurring theme in my life. But every year, as I revisit the idea of time, I am reminded of an article by Tim Urban titled The Tail End. He explores time in a visual and finite way, illustrating our remaining years as a series of boxes. Each box represents a week of life, and seeing time mapped out so starkly changes the way you think about it. (If you haven’t read it yet, I encourage you to take a moment: The Tail End.)

Urban’s visualization resonates with me because, for much of my adult life, I’ve lived with a mindset stuck in what feels like the “tail end.” Time has always felt finite, fragile, and fleeting—a pressure that has both shaped and confined me.

Shoulds and Secrets

Every few years, I revisited my own life—a deeply personal reflection I shared in The Secret. It’s a piece of me that I’ve tucked away, revisiting quietly, almost as if checking on an old wound. With each return, I’ve thought about the expectations I’ve placed on myself, the long list of "shoulds" that loomed over my life:

• Make sure no one is burdened by my departure.
• Write down lessons learned—turn them into a book.
• Find internal peace—maybe through yoga teacher training.

These were not just goals; they were pressures I crafted from my own fears and uncertainties. They represented what I thought I had to do to make my time here worthwhile, to ensure that my existence carried weight.

Writing and the Hamster Wheel

In the last year, writing has been my outlet. It has allowed me to reflect on the how and why of my life and allowing me the space to reflect and understand. But writing is also where I’ve felt the most pressure on my own self and expectations. At times, it feels like I’m running on a hamster wheel—endlessly analyzing my thoughts, only to find myself in the same place.

What happens when we try to live without the heavy burden of existential questions? How do we keep going when it feels like our purpose might not matter to anyone else? These are questions I’ve wrestled with, and I’ll admit, they’re not easy to answer.

Coming Back to Time

In my wrestling with these questions, I always come back to the idea of time. The past is untouchable—I can never recreate the experiences I’ve had or undo what’s been done. The future is unknowable, despite our best plans. All I truly have is now, this moment.

Time is a relentless force. It keeps moving forward, even when we desperately wish it would pause, slow down, or rewind. And when I think about all the time I’ve wished I could get back, I realize that those moments are already gone. But perhaps that’s the point. Time doesn’t wait for us; it teaches us to value the present.

Finding Joy

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that joy is both fleeting and precious. For much of my life, I’ve let it slip by, overshadowed by worries about the next task, the next problem, or the opinions of others. I rarely allowed myself to fully embrace it in the moment. But when I pause to reflect, I realize that what truly brings me joy is creating—whether it’s building ideas, shaping concepts, or bringing something new into existence. This year, I’m choosing to focus on the things that ignite that joy and propel me forward.

So this year, my question for myself—and for you—is simple: What will bring you joy in the next year?

Joy doesn’t have to be monumental. It can be small—a laugh with a friend, a quiet walk, a moment of stillness where you breathe and simply exist. As I move forward, I’m learning to savor these moments, to let go of the “shoulds” and embrace the now.

Time may be finite, but within each fleeting moment lies the possibility of joy. Let’s not overlook it.