Misapprehension - Part One

The White Rabbit by Sir John Tenniel

There is a section of the brain - or of my brain, I should say - that seems to enjoy grabbing and holding on fiercely to beliefs that are just not true.  This is about one of them.

For years, decades, I have been telling myself that there were not enough hours in a day for all that a day was required to hold.  I believed it; I had proof.  I cannot call it an epiphany, the instant of electrifying awareness that things are other than assumed.  Instead, it felt more like waking up; not knowing in one moment, then knowing with certainty in the next.  Nothing jarring or gasp-producing.  Rather, "Oh, yes.   It could be like that."  I began to believe there is time  for what matters.

In other posts I've written about my fluid and somewhat non-ordinary relationship with time. I have written about a sense, an imperative, of proceeding through my life slowly.  That was not always the case.  Health concerns changed my pace and  I realized this is my authentic state.  All the hurry has leaked out of me.

What I have begun to do, and I hesitated to write of a process so new, is believe differently.  I do not tell myself, I do not think the words, "There isn't enough time."   As I find the 15 or so minutes each day to write and roughly illustrate a small journal page, I suspect the time was never missing.   But by believing there was not enough, there wasn't.

This may be very old news to all of you.  I know we are capable of limiting ourselves with false beliefs, but had not imagined it was something a person could just stop doing.  I was wrong about time and have begun to examine other notions that may be equally defeating.  If this account seems short or incomplete, it is because I expect there will be other posts,  detailing other misapprehensions.  Time is just the first Junior Mint I pulled out of the box, the big, theater-size box.