from time to time, we perch at the edges— bookending moments, harnessed to certainty. we try to hold it— wrap it around our pulse, stack it neatly within our days, ask it to guard our sleep. time is static. a stamp. what was. what might be. never quite now. but what if we let go? lost track. dropped from its watch. we shift— from the finite to the fluid, from checkpoints to the current. between the beats. in the spaces unnamed. time makes us anticipate, but mostly out of fear. it pulls us outward— side to side, always scanning. but timing moves inward— quietly asking us to listen. time deals in destinations. beginnings and ends. efficiencies and expectations. it shortcuts our intuition. timing deals in possibilities. it’s soft. unforced. the keeper of love and heartbreak, opportunity and loss, hell yeses and the rare, powerful no. time insists we hold tight. timing flickers— like a firefly in summer night: briefly seen, never caught. observe it. then release. time is an answer. timing is a question. it opens doors to the unknown— asking us to stay curious, to dance with contradiction, to notice the subtle invitations the world keeps sending. timing never favors or fails. it just is. a pulse beneath the noise— whispering: are you ready? not yet? maybe now? and when we stop forcing it, we begin to trust. we feel more. we find ourselves again. timing moves through you, and you through it. asking only for your presence. and presence— is timeless.
Over the past few months, timing has become a recurring theme—in conversations with friends, with strangers, and in the quiet check-ins with myself. I’ve noticed how often we surrender to time—treating it as fixed truth—rather than partnering with the subtler, more honest rhythm of timing.
Timing doesn’t promise certainty. It doesn’t guarantee outcomes. But it does hold everything: love and heartbreak, opportunity and loss, joy and disappointment. It’s neutral, ever-changing, and quietly powerful.
It’s walked with me through the most defining “no’s” and the most transformative “yeses”—rejections that realigned me, affirmations that reminded me. The heartbreaks that cracked something open. The risks that asked me to leap.
Time is safe. It stays on schedule. Timing asks for something else—Courage. Curiosity. Ownership. Self-trust. Presence. It’s invited me to let go of the life raft of certainty—and swim with whatever current I’m in, each time compounding in a forward direction.
The piece that follows is about that dance—between time and timing, control and surrender, what is fixed and what is felt.