I have a friend who often claims he doesn’t have time. He’s one of those people who likes to talk about how busy he is, and how hard it is to manage the hours in his days. Though he wouldn’t say it out loud, it’s clear that he thinks his time is more precious than anyone else’s. He demonstrates this by rarely arriving on time for anything, then excusing this by explaining how he’s moved things around his hectic diary to make room for the thing he’s late to.
Time spent with others isn’t so much a gift, as it is an exchange. Telling people how much you’ve given up to spend time with them rarely adds value to the experience. In fact, it probably does the opposite, as it carelessly overlooks the value of the other person’s time.
So as I looked at this box of old pocket watches today, my busy friend and his lack of time came to mind. All those clocks in a box, all that time, yet there are no more hours or minutes in that box than anywhere else.