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We Aren’t Time-Poor, We’re Awe-Poor

We Aren’t Time-Poor, We’re Awe-Poor

A split-composition digital illustration showing a man on the left trapped in a glowing blue cage of clocks, calendars, and email icons within a grayscale desert landscape, representing the 'time-poor' state. On the right, the same man stands free, looking up at a vibrant sunset in a colorful desert, with the digital cage shattering around him, symbolizing the transition to an 'awe-rich' life.

There’s a phrase I’ve heard countless times over the years—maybe you have too:

“I just don’t have enough time.”

It comes up in coaching conversations, over coffee with friends, in my own internal dialogue when the day feels like it’s slipping away. We talk about our schedules as if time were the sole villain in the story of our lives. Not enough hours, too many responsibilities, and a constant low-grade pressure to somehow do it all.

But what if the core problem isn’t actually time?

Recently, I came across an article that put a different—and very resonant—frame around this familiar struggle. It suggested that many of us aren’t just time-poor, we’re awe-poor. That stopped me.

Because when you really look at how most days unfold, the issue often isn’t that every minute is spoken for. It’s that our attention is so fragmented, our pace so automatic, that we rarely feel truly touched by our own experience. We rush, we optimize, we check boxes, but we don’t often pause long enough to be moved.

And that has a cost.

When awe is missing, life starts to feel strangely flat, even when it’s full. You can be productive, “successful,” and surrounded by activity, yet feel like you’re skimming the surface of everything. Maybe you recognize that feeling—that sense that your days look fine from the outside, but something important isn’t landing on the inside.

The idea of being awe-poor gets at that deeper hunger.

Awe isn’t about constant peak experiences or chasing dramatic moments. It’s about the way we relate to the ordinary: the light through the window in the morning, the sound of someone’s laughter, a sentence in a book that hits you in just the right way. When we’re open to awe, we give ourselves permission to be surprised, softened, and expanded by what’s already here.

What I appreciate about the article I’m sharing below is that it doesn’t scold us for being busy or ask us to quit our lives and move to a cabin in the woods. Instead, it offers a gentle invitation: what if the real shift isn’t from “busy” to “free,” but from numb to awake? From time-starved to wonder-aware?

That’s a question I’m sitting with in my own life and work, and I suspect it might resonate with you, too.

I encourage you to read the full piece and notice what it stirs up—agreement, resistance, curiosity, maybe even a little grief for the awe you’ve been too busy to feel. Whatever comes up, it’s a valuable starting point.

You can read the original article here:

👉 We Aren’t Time Poor, We Are Awe Poor
https://medium.com/illumination/we-arent-time-poor-we-are-awe-poor-b0dcf2558f74?source=friends_link&sk=1cf19f25b8afe49d219f51f1caa340ce

 

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