If I were working at a regular job with regular hours, perhaps the hours of my work (and, therefore, those of the rest of my life) would fade into the background--just a steady factor in the daily experience of life. But I am not, so they don't. Each week, sometimes each day, is a new negotiation about time. Where will I be when, and consequently, where will anyone in my family need to be? Will there need to be daytime sleeping, or special arrangements made? Will I be available for discussions, or unable to talk until the time when everyone else is asleep? Things may work out just fine, but how do we get from "how the heck?" to "just fine?"
And so, as I make my way through work and life, I can't help but "count
the hours." It's not about watching a clock or filling out a time sheet.
Rather, it is about conserving energy when I see there is a late shift
ahead. It's not about wanting to redistribute my hours. Rather, it's
about making sure I make the most of them, whatever and wherever they
The hours are flying by. Are you counting them, or making them count?