I often ask my clients to consider how they want to spend their lives. Sometimes this leads to exploration of values or work or money, but the deeper conversations veer into a meditation on time. We measure everything through the lens of time.
Time is our master. In our waking lives, we cannot conceive of anything outside of time. Our minds are always focused on the past, future, or present: in a state of reflection, seeking memories for comfort or lessons or regrets; or looking to the future, sometimes with optimism, but more often with anxiety and distrust. Rarely, but blissfully sometimes, we are in sync with the present moment.
But in the main, we perceive time as a menace, or at best, the dog nipping at our heels.
The only constant is time, and it’s finite. I don’t mean this specifically in the modern sense of overwhelm about how much there is to do in too little time, but generally as an existential reality. Our lives are short. Every day each of us draws closer to the end of our time. For me, this is not terrifying or morbid; it’s a fact and an opportunity.
And, yet, I find myself outside of what I know about time. I hold myself to a dogged sense of purpose, to using my time to achieve, complete, or accomplish. Lately, as has been my way for the first 60 years of life, I have been trying to land on my next “thing.” Maybe I need to take more classes; maybe I need to evolve my coaching practice. My sense of responsibility, a crutch I can always lean on, leads me to believe I have more to do. But what if what I am “doing” now is just fine? Better than fine, fulfilling.
I tell myself that I should push myself to charge more, coach fewer people. I should take more of a leadership role in the coaching profession. I should network and promote and assert.
But I don’t want to.
I like coaching, mainly because it scratches my life long itch to discover what it is to be human. I think I have always believed this is the only gift our brief lives afford us. We are time travelers. Our journey may be filled with awe and wonder at the twists and turns and variety of life, humming along as we float through the cosmic version of the “Small World” boat ride. Or we may tend to step lightly, clutching ourselves in terror as we wander through the haunted house of a life filled with ghosts and chainsaw-wielding maniacs jumping out of the shadows at every turn.
So why have I allowed myself to fall victim to the dogs?
In just six years, I have coached more than 1000 people. The sheer variety of experiences and cultures and personalities astounds me. I’ve coached 18 year old college students, young professionals, new parents, emerging leaders, CEOs, nurses and doctors, lawyers and engineers, shop stewards and salespeople, retirees. I held space for people grieving the loss of a job, a friend, a pet, a parent. I have connected deeply with trans and nonbinary youth, gay and bisexual women and men. I am daily trusted by people born or living on every continent ( save Antarctica), whose first language is not English, whose religions, cultures, family norms, and politics I would never have encountered without their trust in our ability to connect and make meaning together. Through it all, I believe that I have made the journey through time a little less scary and a little more meaningful, not only for my clients, but for me.
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