Time is Money

“Time is money”. I’ve heard that all my life. While at one time it meant to me that working meant earning money, it now has a far deeper meaning.
Time is money. I trade my days for my paycheck and wonder why. We all need money to pay bills, buy food . . . exist. But do we all need to trade our time for money in our usual conventional ways?
I’ve said before that I am becoming jealous of my time with an eye to the knowledge that it is indeed finite.
There are things I want to accomplish before my time is gone. Like sand through an hour glass . . . there’s more sand in the bottom than is left in the top . . . perhaps much more sand down there.
For years I have written on one book or another, never completing any, but enjoying the task of getting the words on paper and seeing progress. Now I wonder if I’ll have time to complete them all? There is one in particular that I feel very moved to write. It may change the whole idea of an American concept. I have learned over the years that the pen IS mightier than the sword and I’ve learned to use it well. Nothing I do goes without being proofread. I helped pay my way through college at ECU being a proofreader with the ECU News Bureau. When I’d mention where I worked because I came in at 5:00 every day, not after my last class, dorm acquaintances would ask how I got a job there? (as opposed to where else? I would think . . . ) But my dears, I got a job there through the mere act of being poor and having office skills that the financial aid office decided could be useful at that location. I made many dear friends at that office and was even offered a permanent job there when I graduated. I foolishly turned it down and have regretted that decision from time to time. But time was money and I was out to save the world by changing one school child at a time.
I have increased my abilities to teach by going to UNCW and getting a Masters Degree. I do find it amusing that now after years of experience and a second degree, I am making more money than I ever have at this job, but am less happy. I do enjoy what I do, but I look at what I have yet to do and wonder how much time I have left to do it in.
So I weigh time against money and hope that I can save up and store up enough to last until the end of my time because I want to devote the rest of my life to writing. I want to finish the books I have started. I want to write articles for the editors who have asked to see one on a specific topic.
I want to quit my job and cast my nets anew with little assurance (except what God has promised) that I will be successful.
Colonel Sanders used his first social security check to start KFC. He did quite well.
I’ve never had grand visions of material possessions. If something is functional, I see no reason to replace it.
I sit as Thoreau on the shores of my future, but without the friends he had to rescue me. I’ve been called foolish more than once in my life, but my foolishness usually paid off and the few times I did not go with my gut feelings and launch myself in another direction, I have greatly regretted it.
So with time being money and today being a holiday from my regular work, I think of the future and how I can quit using my time to obtain a sure amount of money when I could actually survive on half of what I make and perhaps be far happier. Time or money? I choose time, I choose health, I choose happiness.
“Time is money, a phrase used by Benjamin Franklin in Advice to a Young Tradesman, Written by an Old One”
“I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods


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