Whilst out running the other day in my favourite park, I came across a black, plastic alarm clock sitting on a bench.
The time read 5 minutes past 5.
I took some photos of it and then continued my run, although my mind kept returning to the alarm clock, just sitting there on the bench, in a really secluded corner of the park.
I thought and thought and thought, convinced it was a sign or a metaphor that I could apply to my life.
I found an alarm clock.
I found time.
Perhaps I should be finding the time.
To write that letter.
To hold hands with Kristin. Just because.
To finish my book. And then start a new one.
To talk to Norman, the 90-year-old man, who sits at the same table drinking a latte, every single day, in the bar where I work.
To go for that singing lesson, even though I’m scared.
To go for that horse riding lesson, even though I’m scared.
To talk to my niece about life and gain inspiration from her perspective. She’s ten and her head is full of wild dreams and jelly beans. It’s a great place to be.
To smile more. At strangers.
To learn how to bake a cake.
To lie on the floor, listening to my favourite music whilst staring at the ceiling.
To go to India. Fuck the money.
To plant the tomatoes.
To listen more. To myself.
To take my trousers to the dry cleaners.
To start writing a memoir.
To forgive.
To accept my strengths and my weaknesses.
To do nothing and embrace the silence.
Tick tock.
Are you finding the time?
