I recently went to work and discovered that I wasn’t wearing my watch, and it left me feeling unnerved. It’s substantial, beautiful, meaningful, comfortable, and it keeps perfect time. I feel like something is missing when it isn’t on my left wrist.

The funny thing is that I forgot about it because I was rushing — I ran out of time.

What upset me was how often I kept glancing down at my wrist during the day, bothered by not knowing the exact time. Although the time is on my computer, phone and wall clock somewhere in the office, I like having it right in front of me.

It allows me to subtly glance down to see how long a person is speaking, a meeting is running, or a task is taking. I am so stealth that no one even notices me doing it. I was unaware of how addicted to the behavior I was until I could no longer do it at work.

What I thought I missed was not having my favorite item on, but what I truly missed was the perceived control it provided me.

Coming face to face with that realization disturbed me. If the pace we keep is so structured, rushed, and accounted for that the absence of monitoring the moments feels uncomfortable, things have to change.

Life may be designed to be that way at times, but we certainly are not.

The next morning was another rush of unexpected interruptions, and wouldn’t you know it, I forgot to put my watch on. I arrived at work, noticed, and laughed aloud.

I made peace with it, and thanked the Universe for another shot at relinquishing the need to focus on the amount of time spent during every interaction. As I saw others doing what I usually did, I realized it was another tiny step in a healthier direction.

There is no control; there is only time.

Trying to control the time is like attempting to catch all of the air in the room with two hands, an exercise in futility.

I went to work with my watch on the following day, slowing down enough to remember it and wising up enough to not pay it so much attention.

It looked great with my outfit, and that was sufficient for me.

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