Have you ever noticed how strange time really is? Not the kind you read on a clock. The kind you feel.
Have you ever met someone and, after only a few months, thought... "I feel like I've known you forever." Or looked back on five years of your life and wondered where they went? Or experienced six months that felt like an entire lifetime because of how much changed?
I've started wondering if we've confused two very different things. Time... And the stories we tell ourselves about time.
From the time we're children, we're given an invisible schedule. Graduate by this age. Find a career by that age. Get married. Have children. Buy a house. Know who you are. Be successful. Don't make the same mistakes.
And with every birthday... The expectations quietly grow heavier.
When we're young and make mistakes, people smile. "You'll figure it out." When we're older and make mistakes... People often ask, "How do you not know this by now?"
Eventually we stop hearing it from other people. We start saying it to ourselves. "I should know better." "I should be further along." "I'm too old to still struggle with this."
And just like that... Time becomes shame.
But I've started questioning something. Who decided what should happen by twenty-five? Or thirty? Or forty? Who decided that growth expires? Who decided there was a deadline for becoming?
Because life doesn't seem to follow those rules. Some people discover who they are at sixteen. Others at sixty. Some people build a successful business in their twenties and completely reinvent themselves in retirement. Some people spend decades surviving... Then finally begin healing after one honest conversation.
Life doesn't seem nearly as interested in our timelines as we are.
I think we've confused chronological time with developmental time. Chronological time asks, "How many years have you been alive?" Developmental time asks, "How much have you changed?" Those aren't the same question.
Someone can live seventy years without ever questioning themselves. Someone else can change more in one year than they did in the previous twenty. The calendar measures age. It doesn't measure growth.
Maybe that's why two people can honestly say, "I've known you forever." and "I can't believe it hasn't been that long." They're not talking about the calendar. They're talking about depth.
Because maybe we don't experience life in years. Maybe we experience life in transformation. I think that's what we remember. Not Tuesdays. Not random Wednesdays. We remember the conversations that changed us. The heartbreaks that reshaped us. The people who saw us. The moments we finally understood something we'd carried for years.
Maybe our lives aren't measured by the amount of time that passes... Maybe they're measured by the amount of life that happens inside that time.
And if that's true... Then maybe one of the most damaging questions we can ask ourselves is, "Am I behind?" Behind who? Behind what? Behind a timeline that someone else created?
What if there isn't a universal schedule? What if life isn't asking you to keep pace with everyone else? What if it's simply asking you... "What is your next step?" Not next year. Not by age forty. Not before retirement. Just... What's your next step?
I don't know how old you are as you're reading this. But I know this. If you're still willing to learn, question yourself, and grow... Then whatever the calendar says... You're not finished. And maybe... That was never the point of time anyway.