What Are You Doing With This Moment?
Have you ever stopped to think about what you’re really saying when you claim to be “killing time?” It’s a phrase we toss around so casually, a verbal shrug to describe those empty pockets in our day. We say it while waiting for a bus, standing in a grocery line, or sitting in a doctor’s office. We’re just killing time. But think about that for a second. Killing. It’s a word of finality, of violence. You can’t get it back. When you pair it with “time,” our most finite and precious, non-renewable resource, it becomes one of the most quietly tragic phrases in the English language. It suggests that a moment of life is so worthless, so devoid of potential, that its only value is in its own destruction.
The Enemy in the Clock
When we say we want to kill time, we frame our own existence as a waiting room for a future event. The present moment becomes an obstacle, an annoying stretch of road we have to speed through to get to our real destination. The job interview, the end of the workday, the arrival of a friend, the start of a movie. That’s the “important” stuff. Everything in between? It’s just filler. It’s a nuisance. And so, we declare war on it. We arm ourselves with our phones, scrolling endlessly through feeds we won’t remember, playing games that leave us feeling empty, anything to distract us from the supposed horror of an unoccupied minute. We treat stillness like an enemy, and boredom like a disease that must be eradicated on sight.
The Tyranny of Productivity
This impulse comes from a culture that worships at the altar of productivity. We’ve been conditioned to believe that every second must be optimized, monetized, or utilized. If you’re not producing, you’re failing. If you’re not busy, you’re lazy. This relentless pressure turns the simple act of being into a source of anxiety. We feel a nagging guilt when we’re not doing something “useful.” And so, the quiet moments, the ones that hold the potential for daydreaming, for observation, for genuine, unfiltered thought, feel like a personal failing. We can’t just be with our thoughts; that feels too much like doing nothing. So we choose to kill the moment instead, snuffing out its potential before it can make us feel uncomfortable in our own skin.
The Symphony in the Silence
But what if we reframed it? What if, instead of killing time, we chose to inhabit it? What if we saw those in-between moments not as a void, but as a space? A space for breath. A space for observation. The world is putting on a spectacular, one-time-only performance right in front of you, and you have a front-row seat. Listen to the rhythm of the city: the distant siren, the laughter from a nearby cafe, the hum of the air conditioner. Watch the people around you. Each one is the main character in their own epic story, filled with their own private joys and heartbreaks. Look at the way the light falls on a building, the intricate design of a leaf on the sidewalk, the dance of clouds across the sky. This isn’t “doing nothing.” This is the art of noticing. And the art of noticing is the beginning of connection, with the world and with yourself.
A Garden in the Gaps
Think of these moments as tiny gardens you can tend to. Instead of paving them over with the concrete of distraction, you can plant a seed. A seed of curiosity. A seed of gratitude. A seed of reflection. That five minutes waiting for your coffee? That’s enough time to think of three things you’re genuinely grateful for. That ten minutes in traffic? It’s an opportunity to check in with yourself. How are you really feeling right now? Not “fine,” but truly? What does your body need? What does your mind need? You don’t need a yoga mat or a meditation cushion to be mindful. You just need a moment you were about to kill, and the choice to make it live instead.
Resurrecting the Moments
This isn’t about adding more to your to-do list. It’s not about turning every moment of rest into a self-improvement project. It’s the opposite. It’s about subtraction. It’s about permission. The permission to be unproductive. The permission to be still. The permission to daydream without a purpose. Some of humanity’s greatest ideas, biggest breakthroughs, and most profound works of art were not born in the frantic rush of a deadline. They were born in the quiet spaces. They were born in the “useless” moments when the mind was allowed to wander off its leash and explore the wilderness of its own imagination. When you kill time, you might be killing the very moment a brilliant idea was about to be born.
An Invitation to Be
So, the next time you find yourself with a few minutes to spare, I want you to catch yourself. When that impulse to reach for your phone and “kill time” rises up, just pause. Take a breath. Look around you. Look within you. What do you see? What do you hear? What do you feel? You don’t have to kill this moment. You don’t have to fill it. All you have to do is receive it. It is a gift. It is, after all, your life.
What is one “useless” moment this week that you can choose to make alive instead of killing it? And what do you imagine you might find there? Let me know in the comments below.
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