RUNNING THROUGH TIME

I didn’t know I was running.
I thought I was working.
Everybody claps for the runner.
They don’t ask where he’s going.
They just say, “Damn, you stay busy.”
And I did.
Working.
Traveling.
Delivering packages like life was late and I was the only one with the address.
I was always in motion.
Car running.
Mind racing.
Phone buzzing.
If life was a hallway, I was sprinting down it with my head turned sideways like, “I’ll catch the meaning later.”
Later never came.
Motion Becomes Normal
You normalize anything you survive long enough.
I got hit by cars.
Plural.
Not metaphorical ones.
Actual metal. Actual asphalt. Actual “lay there and breathe if you can.”
And once I stood back up, I didn’t sit with it.
I didn’t ask what it took from me.
I said, “Alright, cool. What’s next?”
Because that’s what runners do.
They don’t stop.
They resume.
Life Keeps Adding Weight
Then life said, “Oh, you think you fast?”
Here
have a baby during a pandemic.
No manual.
No pause button.
Just responsibility dropped in your arms like, “Figure it out while moving.”
I loved my child with everything I had.
But I didn’t slow down.
I just ran harder.
Through relationships.
Through breakups.
Through almosts.
Through maybes.
Meeting people felt like drive-bys. Smiles happened in passing. Opportunities waved while I was already gone.
I wasn’t lonely.
I was unavailable to the present.
Comedy Lives Here
Here’s the funny part
people thought I was calm.
I’d crack jokes.
Keep it light.
Make people laugh while my nervous system was screaming, “MOVE.”
I was the kind of person who could say, “Have a great day!” while already halfway out the door.
I’d leave moments before they finished forming.
And later
hours later
my brain would finally sit down like,
“Yo… that was something.”
Too late.
The Discovery
The shift didn’t come from a breakdown.
It came from something embarrassingly simple.
I realized: My feet were leaving before my mind arrived.
That’s it.
I wasn’t bad at life. I wasn’t missing opportunities. I wasn’t awkward.
I was exiting moments early.
I was living ahead of time, then processing behind it
never inside it.
That’s how you miss your own life without disappearing.
Changing Where You Stand
Nobody tells you this, but time isn’t something you manage.
Time is something you stand in.
I had been standing ahead of it
bracing, anticipating, rushing.
So I tried something radical.
I stopped my body.
Not forever.
Not dramatically.
Just long enough for my mind to catch up.
And suddenly moments didn’t run away.
They spoke.
People revealed themselves. Conversations had weight. Silence wasn’t awkward it was informative.
I didn’t grab life. I let life arrive.
This Is the Part They Don’t Put in the Documentary
The win isn’t that everything changed.
The win is that nothing had to.
Same work. Same responsibilities. Same world.
Different stance.
I stopped running through time
and started standing inside it.
And when you do that you don’t miss what’s meant for you, because you’re already there when it shows up.
This isn’t about slowing down your life.
It’s about stopping your exits.
It’s about letting moments finish their sentences.
Because the truth is: You don’t lose life from being busy.
You lose it from leaving before it’s done being present.
And once you learn where to stand
Time stops slipping.
It starts responding.