Many of us live with a quiet but constant feeling that we are behind—behind on our work, our relationships, even our own lives. We feel pressure to get things done quickly and efficiently, and we measure ourselves by how productive we are. I’ve come to see that the relationship that is most difficult to manage is our lives is our relationship with time.

In our modern society, time has become our master rather than our servant. And I wonder what might shift if we saw that we don’t actually need more time, but rather a different way of being inside the time we have? What if time is not chasing us down, but inviting us to inhabit it more fully, to engage with presence in everything we do?

At the Soul of Money Institute, we explore the notion of scarcity as it shows up in our relationship with money. But scarcity also quietly shapes our experience of time. Our productivity culture can create a chronic sense of insufficiency: not enough hours in the day to accomplish what we want; not enough time to care for ourselves; a constant doing that overwhelms simply being. It’s not that productivity and presence are mutually exclusive. In fact, we do our best work when we are not rushed, when we are fully aware in the present moment.

Remember the quaint idea that technology would save us time? Each new device—from the washing machine to the smartphone—was meant to bring us more ease and freedom. And in some ways, it has. But the unintended consequence is that our attention is now constantly fragmented. The pressure to move quickly, to respond, to keep up, has only intensified. As we try to attend to more and more, we may notice that we’ve lost something quieter but essential—the muscle of patience, the ability to relax, to rest our attention in what is here now.

This loss of patience is understandable in a world that continually stimulates urgency and anxiety. But patience is not about disciplining ourselves to wait. It is about staying present with what is unfolding and learning again to trust the timing of things—in life, in other people, and in the unseen currents that are always moving beneath the surface.

A spiritual teacher once told me, “Refuse to rush.” It’s a simple instruction, but one that has changed my life. Not only can it keep us out of trouble, but it also opens a doorway to being fully present. And we know these moments: when we lose ourselves in a conversation, or watching a sunset, or listening to a child’s laughter. Time seems to loosen its grip. It stretches, softens, even disappears. I’ve found it useful to think not of managing time, but of managing my own energy: feeling into when I need to relax and give myself the spaciousness to rest and rejuvenate.

So I’ve begun to see that reclaiming our attention is, in itself, a spiritual practice. It doesn’t mean giving up productivity but gently ensuring that it does not consume our capacity for presence. Perhaps it’s as simple as pausing for a breath, listening a little more deeply, or allowing a moment to be enough as it is. Maybe just going outside to wonder at the trees or clouds: Nature has a way a nurturing the now,

Patience and presence may not be things we have to strive for, but something we remember—a sacred rhythm of life that is always here, quietly waiting for our attention.

With love and appreciation,

Lynne