What Do I Want, Not What Time Is It

I used to think being early meant I was doing life right. That if I showed up ten minutes ahead, someone would notice. Someone would say, “Look at her. She’s responsible. She’s ready. She’s good.”

No one ever said that.

I was the second-born, always catching up to rhythms I didn’t set. Being early became my way of winning quietly. Of earning space in systems where space wasn’t always mine to begin with.

But now I get there ten minutes early and feel nothing. No gold sticker. No relief. Just a body that’s been trained to get somewhere before it wants to arrive.

And here I am, letting the Airbnb check-in time loom over my head, writing instead of packing. Hearing that old inner voice say, “You should’ve asked for earlier. Take advantage. Be efficient.”

But what if I flow into my day? What if I don’t check the clock — I check in with myself?

What do I want, not what time is it?

Maybe I want to walk slow.
Maybe I want to sit in a café and write this. Maybe I want to feel the sun on my face before I feel a doorknob in my hand.

Maybe time isn’t something to beat or earn or fear. Maybe time is a friend who waits at the edge of my want.

Today, I’m not early. I’m not late.
I’m with myself.
And that’s right on time.

I want to stretch things out.
I want quality over quantity.
A chord on a piano is beautiful because it’s three notes
not because it’s played fast.

My ballerina teacher once told me that a pirouette wasn’t beautiful on its own.
The beauty was in the grace of the landing.
It wasn’t about the spin — it was about the return.

I don’t need to hurry up to get to my life.
I’m not late.
I am here.
And I want it to resound.