Time, Habits & No Big Buts

I have spent almost all of my life running against the clock.

Much of that is simply how I'm constructed—lots of dopamine, not a lot of need for sleep, a brain that doesn't easily switch off. But the deeper reason? I lost a parent as a kid. And something settled in me early: the not-so-quiet fear that I might not make it past my early forties either.

I formed a quiet agreement with myself: I would make it all matter. I would sprint toward my goals—whatever I decided those goals might be. I would take big swings. I would live kind of dangerously, in a way that left my heart racing. I had no idea if I had the time that everyone else seemed to regard as their birthright.

In many ways, it helped me a lot. I built things. I moved forward. I didn’t squander a second. Yet now, in my third age, I understand that perhaps it was never really about the race.

A Thai saying I heard recently made me stop in my tracks:

“In your bank account where the currency is time, you never know how much you have. So spend it wisely—make your days count.”

That hit me.

Because I’ve spent years trying to make the big moments count—
But what about the quiet ones?
The hours I didn’t document?
The days I moved through too fast?

I’ve always been aware of death—more than most. It’s part of the fabric of my story.
That early loss taught me that life can change in an instant, that wellbeing is fragile, and that love can vanish without warning.

It’s why I’ve dedicated so much of my time to working, mentoring, creating, and giving—filling the space with purpose.
But it’s also why I’ve come to realise: in a world full of intentions, habits might matter just as much—if not more.

We can’t predict our futures, but we can choose our habits.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that offers us more control than we realise.Control over how we spend our days.
Control over showing up, even when we don’t feel like it.
Control over breathing instead of reacting.
Control over protecting our energy—not out of fear, but out of wisdom.

One final lesson I’ve learned—small on the surface, but mighty underneath—is the way one word can change everything.

There was a time I used “but” constantly.
“I hear you, but…”
“You did well, but…”
“I love this idea, but…”

Until one day, I started replacing it with “and.”“

No big buts. Ample use of and.”

It’s such a small shift—but it softened my tone.
It made conversations less defensive.
It helped people feel seen instead of corrected.
It made my leadership more collaborative, more human.

Instead of fixing, I felt like I was building.
Instead of surviving, I felt like I was shaping something.

So this month, I offer no framework. No fix.
Just a few truths I’m still learning to live by:

That time is precious, and we never know how much of it we have.

That our habits are often the quiet legacy we leave behind.

And that the way we speak—to others and to ourselves—can change everything.

I’m still learning.
Still unlearning.
Still giving myself the gentle permission to grow.