Pic source – Pixabay
For the past almost two years—Sahiba will be two this October—I constantly complained about how raising a child consumed every moment of my day. I often found myself “stealing” time while she slept, snatching precious minutes to write. And yet, despite the exhaustion and the constant juggling of responsibilities, I managed to complete three books during this period.
Now, she’s not here. My wife and Sahiba are asleep across the world in another timezone, and I have all the time in the world. Every minute is mine. And yet, the words refuse to come. My mind, once a bustling factory of ideas during stolen hours, now feels strangely inert. I sit, staring at the blank page, and all I can think about is her.
This stark contrast has made me realize something unexpected: perhaps a lack of time isn’t always a disadvantage. Maybe it was the very urgency—the pressure to make the most of the small windows when she slept—that sharpened my focus and forced my brain to work more efficiently. When time was limited, I wrote with purpose, speed, and clarity. Now, knowing I have endless hours, the mind seems to resist effort altogether.
It’s a strange paradox. Constraints once felt like obstacles, yet they were the engine driving my productivity. Freedom, on the other hand, brings a kind of inertia. Perhaps this is a reminder that human creativity often thrives not in abundance, but in scarcity—in the moments when we feel the pressure to seize every second.
And so, as I sit with all the time in the world, I am learning to accept the silence, the pause, and the absence of urgency. Perhaps writing, like life, needs both pressure and patience, and perhaps it’s okay to wait until the words arrive on their own.
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