Why ‘Not Enough Time’ Is the Adult Version of Believing in Santa Claus

I found myself stuck in traffic yesterday—a mundane scenario familiar to anyone living within commuting distance of civilization—when I noticed how frantically I kept checking my watch.¹ Each glance reinforced a mounting sense of doom, as if those ticking seconds represented some irrevocable cosmic judgment on my character. My appointment wasn't particularly consequential, yet here I was, mentally calculating how many minutes remained before my lateness would transition from "fashionably delayed" to "inexcusably absent."

And then it struck me: I wasn't lacking time. I was lacking perspective.

We consider time an objective constraint—twenty-four hours, no negotiations possible—but what if our perception of chronological scarcity is merely an elaborate self-deception?² What if, instead of a time management problem, we're actually facing a priority confusion?

The Chronology Fallacy

Most of us operate under a persistent illusion: we believe our primary limitation in life stems from insufficient hours in a day. We exhaust ourselves chasing efficiency hacks and productivity systems, squeezing every possible minute from our schedules until we collapse into bed, simultaneously exhausted and unsatisfied.³

But consider this alternative framework: What appears as a time shortage actually manifests from misaligned priorities.

When we claim insufficient time for exercise, reading, or meaningful conversation, we're making an implicit admission. We've ranked those activities below whatever currently occupies our schedule.⁴ This isn't an objective reality but a subjective choice—often one made unconsciously, surrendering to external pressures or internalized expectations.

An experiment: Document every moment of your day for a week. You'll discover approximately 168 hours—a substantial sum when viewed cumulatively. Then ask yourself: "Does my allocation reflect my genuine values and aspirations?" For many, an uncomfortable realization follows.

The Default Settings Problem

Our lives operate on default settings we seldom acknowledge. Without conscious intervention, external forces determine our focus—social algorithms, workplace demands, cultural assumptions about success and obligation.⁵ These forces aren't necessarily malevolent, but they serve agendas beyond our personal fulfillment.

Consider a parallel from computer science: when consumers purchase new devices, manufacturers pre-configure default settings optimized for general usage patterns and corporate interests—not individual user needs. Similarly, society offers pre-packaged priorities calibrated for economic productivity and consumption, not necessarily human flourishing.

Who programmed your default settings? When did you last evaluate them?

The Autonomy Paradox

Here emerges a curious contradiction: we fiercely defend our autonomy while simultaneously allowing external influences to dictate our attention. We insist on freedom while following standardized scripts for "successful" living.⁶

Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi observed: "A person can make himself happy, or miserable, regardless of what is happening 'outside,' just by changing the contents of consciousness." Yet how many truly exercise authority over their consciousness? How many consciously choose where attention flows rather than responding mechanically to whatever screams loudest?⁷

A professional colleague once shared her revelation after recovering from serious illness. "Before," she explained, "I never questioned why I worked sixty-hour weeks while my guitar gathered dust. After facing mortality, I realized nobody forced this arrangement upon me. I manufactured my own cage."

How many of us construct similar confinements?

The Hierarchy Question

Consider: What activities consistently lose when competing for your schedule? Which aspirations perpetually occupy your "someday" list?⁸ These casualties reveal your actual (rather than proclaimed) priority hierarchy.

For many, creative pursuits surrender to urgent work demands. Deep relationships yield to superficial social obligations. Physical wellness concedes to professional advancement. Spiritual practices bow before entertainment consumption.

Again, none of these allocations represent moral failures.⁹ They simply expose our operational value system—often contradicting what we verbally espouse.

When someone claims no time for exercise while averaging three hours of daily screen entertainment, they've ranked amusement above physical wellness. When someone continually postpones family connections while accepting every professional opportunity, they've established a clear preference hierarchy.

The question isn't whether such rankings exist—they must—but whether we've consciously designed them.

Reclaiming Chronological Agency

Freedom begins with recognition. When we acknowledge our time constraints as fundamentally about priorities rather than capacity, we reclaim agency. We shift from victims of chronological oppression to authors of our attention.¹⁰

This transition demands courage. Deliberate priority-setting inevitably produces disappointment somewhere. We cannot simultaneously prioritize career acceleration, parental presence, physical fitness, spiritual depth, creative expression, social activism, and twelve other worthy pursuits. Something must yield.

Here is the absolute, liberating truth: saying no to anything merely confirms your yes elsewhere carries genuine meaning.¹¹ Without selective refusal, acceptance loses significance.

Practical Recalibration

How might one navigate toward authentic alignment between values and temporal allocation? The journey often begins with quiet contemplation—observing where minutes and hours actually flow without immediate judgment or correction.¹² From this witnessing emerges awareness, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes clarifying.

The patterns eventually speak for themselves. Recurring complaints about insufficient time for certain activities reveal themselves as statements about relative value rather than absolute constraint. "Never enough time for art" translates to "other activities consistently receive preferential treatment over artistic expression."

Many discover a revealing discrepancy: activities receiving verbal reverence often receive minimal temporal investment.¹³ Meanwhile, supposedly "low-priority" pursuits command substantial attention. This misalignment between stated values and observed behavior invites reflection rather than self-criticism.

When reviewing one's temporal landscape, curious questions surface: Which commitments consistently receive protection from cancellation? Which remain perpetually flexible? Whose priorities automatically override your own? What imagined consequences prevent realignment?¹⁴

The most illuminating inquiry might involve examining activities receiving disproportionate time investment. Do these reflect conscious prioritization or unconscious habit? Do they generate meaning commensurate with they cost in hours? What beliefs sustain current allocation patterns?

From extended observation often comes a natural impulse toward adjustment—not through rigid scheduling systems but through heightened awareness of actual choices made in real time.¹⁵ We might notice the moment we unconsciously reach for digital distraction when creative discomfort surfaces. We might recognize how frequently we sacrifice deeply meaningful activities before superficial obligations.

This recognition alone changes behavior more effectively than any elaborate productivity framework-of-the-month. When we witness ourselves making choices contradicting our proclaimed values, a natural recalibration begins without forced intervention.

The Awakening

When we navigate from time management toward priority alignment, we move beyond efficiency toward significance. The question evolves from "How can I fit everything in?" to "What deserves my finite attention?"¹⁶

My traffic jam revelation continued evolving after I arrived (late) to my destination. I realized my frustration stemmed not from potential tardiness but from allowing external scheduling pressures to override my agency. I had temporarily forgotten a fundamental truth: while time remains non-negotiable, our relationship with it remains entirely within our control.

If you discovered you had one year left, what would change in your schedule tomorrow? What would disappear entirely?

What would your current schedule reveal about your true priorities?¹⁷ Which activities consistently surrender when competing demands arise?

The barrier between you and a meaningful life has never been insufficient time.

It has always been the story you tell yourself about what matters most—and your willingness to live accordingly.

Time is not your enemy. Your fear of choosing is.