Not Another Manic Monday

Time.

It’s the heartbeat of memory, change, regret, hope, and everything in between. It can flash before your eyes or stretch a single second into something that feels like forever.

We’re obsessed with it. Not enough time. Too much time. Go back in time. Chase the future. Try to hold onto the now with both hands and a to-do list.

We use it to console; “Time heals all wounds.” (Let’s not forget, time also wounds all heels!)

Pop culture’s in the same boat. Movies can’t stop time traveling. Songs wax poetic about how it slips, bends, heals, steals. One of my favorites? The Bangles’ cover of “Hazy Shade of Winter.”

Time, time, time,

See what’s become of me.

While I look around for my possibilities,

I was so hard to please.

It felt like they were singing about my 20-year-old self.

Simon & Garfunkel’s original might’ve been dressed in acoustic restraint, but the Bangles brought the urgency. That song is a whirlwind of missed chances, chasing dreams, and the changing seasons of who we are.

That pretty much sums up my early 20s: a mash-up of ambition, angst, and a flawed belief that if I just moved fast enough, I could make time expand. Spoiler: I couldn’t.

I thought that Tiiime…is on my siiide…(thanks, Mick Jagger). But it always seemed a step ahead. Slipping through the cracks while I tried to jam every dream, deadline, and social plan into one overbooked day.

And always playing in the background: my dad, like a motivational mixtape from the Industrial Revolution:

“You’ve got to be the early bird.”

“Get it done.”

“Get in there before the next guy.”

I’m 57 now. And honestly? Who is this mythical next guy and why has he been running my schedule?

These days, the number one thing I coach on is time. How to manage it. Prioritize it. Protect it from distractions, calendar creep, and the vortex of meetings that could have been emails.

Clients come to me with big questions:

How do I make time for myself?

How do I lead my team without losing my weekends?

How long until I get promoted?

How can I breathe again?

Time is both the most tangible and the most mysterious thing we deal with. We can track it down to the second. And still feel like we lost the whole damn day.

And let’s be real: there’s an entire industry out there trying to fix our relationship with time. Planners. Journals. Color-coded systems. Hour-blocking, goal-hacking, dopamine-rewarding nonsense. I tried a lot of them. I even bought the fancy pens. But they all felt like someone else’s system.

Then, one day, mid-coaching session, pen in hand, coffee gone cold, it hit me:

What if we stop separating time from meaning?

What if, instead of stuffing our calendars with tasks, we filled them with purpose? What if our days reflected not just what we need to do, but who we want to be?

So I made something.

It’s not revolutionary. It doesn’t beep, sync, or send you push notifications. It won’t fold your laundry or take your dog for a walk. But it will help you spend your time like it actually belongs to you.

It’s a tool that weaves your why into your week. It helps you focus on what really matters and get curious about what doesn’t. A little structure. A little soul. And very MBS, minus the accent (that’s Michael Bungay Stanier, my favorite author and coaching mind. And if you haven’t read The Coaching Habit, consider this your official nudge.).

The tool is not about doing more. It’s about being more intentional with the time you’ve got. And maybe, just maybe, feeling a little less like you’re racing the clock and more like you’re in conversation with it. And sure, we all wish it were Sunday (our fun day), but it doesn’t have to be just another Manic Monday. (with love to The Bangles)

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