Time Machine

I use my bank account as a gauge for self-worth. A measurement of my success. And my stress. My anxiety and fulfillment in life. 

If it's abundant, I can relax. Like a full tank of gas on a long road trip. I can set off on my day knowing I have some room to pay bills, for those automatic withdrawals, life, house, car insurance. Some resilience when the mortgage comes out. If it's close to zero, I scramble to pull from lines of credit, to gather funds, to invoice clients, to top up. 

It struck me the other day, what if I kept track of my time? Like my bank account. What if time spent reading books to my kids put Time in the account. Date nights with my wife. Having a beer with a friend. Hiking a trail. Time being active. Present time. Time being present are deposits in my life bank, my wellness account. 

Time Distracted is a withdrawal. Time on my phone obsessively checking emails. Scrolling the newsfeed on Facebook. Time not paying attention to my kids, like they're an accessory on an errand run. Time commuting in rush hour. Time Reacting. Fighting. Yelling. 

What if we measured the success of our day, of our life, by the quality of time we spend with the people who matter to us? What if we actually kept track of our deposits and withdrawals. And received an overdraft charge when our Time account slips into the red. 

And what if contentment and fulfillment are the currency of a withdrawal from the Time Bank Machine. And wealth is defined as time enriched by family and friends.