Feeling Good and Happy Every Day- The Luxury of Time

I was running late to a meeting I didn’t want to attend. While trying to find a parking space, my coffee had spilled on my shirt, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing and I was mentally exhausted calculating if I could squeeze in a quick grocery run between my third and fourth meeting before ending the day.

I realised that I could be more grateful for finally finding a space to park the car right outside my favourite coffee shop. Wait, when was the last time I had a coffee here? I couldn’t remember. That’s when I saw her.

She sat at a small café table outside the coffee shop, lost in a book, a full cup of coffee beside her. The morning sun played across her face and she seemed utterly unconcerned with the rush hour chaos around her. What struck me wasn’t her appearance – it was her presence. In that moment, she had something so rich about herself that felt better than anything I knew: she had time and she was enjoying it.

I paid for the parking and walked past her, late to my meeting, but something shifted inside me. I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman and her calm morning, same morning that for the rest of us looked like a storm.

My relationship with time had become toxic and I didn’t even noticed. I treated every minute like a commodity to be traded, optimized, or squeezed for maximum productivity. My calendar looked like a game of Tetris – blocks of meetings stacked tight against each other, every gap filled with tasks, calls and commitments. I was constantly rushing from one moment to the next, never fully present as I couldn’t enjoy any of them.

My week always started Saturday. The breaking point came on a Sunday evening. I sat at my desk, preparing for the week ahead, when I realized I couldn’t remember anything significant about the weekend that had just passed. It had dissolved into a blur of errands, emails and “quick” work checks. I had traded almost a hundred of precious hours of my life for… what exactly?

That night, I made a decision that would change everything. I opened my calendar and blocked off everything. No emails. No phone. No plans. Just time – pure, unstructured time.

The next Monday morning was uncomfortable. I sat with my coffee, feeling almost guilty for not being ‘productive’. My hand itched to check my phone. But as the sun rose, painting my kitchen walls with soft golden light, something began to shift. I found myself noticing things: the way steam curled from my coffee cup, the distant sound of birds singing for a new day, the smell of freshly ground coffee. For the first time in decades, I wasn’t rushing through a moment – I was living in it.

This small taste of time luxury awakened a hunger for more. I began to see time differently, not as a resource to be spent but as a gift to be unwrapped and savoured. I started creating what I now call “time sanctuaries” – protected spaces in my day where time flows at its own pace.

My morning ritual expanded naturally. I discovered the joy of writing in my journal in the quiet hours before dawn, when the world feels full of possibility. These weren’t structured entries on to-do lists – they were conversations with myself, dreams poured onto paper, thoughts allowed to wander and wonder. Some mornings I wrote pages; others, just a few lines. The luxury was in allowing either to be enough.

Sunday afternoons transformed from a frantic preparation for the week ahead into a slow joy in my kitchen. Chopping vegetables became a meditation. The simple act of preparing food became a ceremony of gratitude and presence. I stopped watching cooking videos while I cooked, instead tuning into the sounds, smells and textures of my own kitchen symphony.

As lunch walks became part of my ritual, I learned to leave my phone behind. Each step became a prayer of sorts, a rhythmic reminder to notice the world around me. I watched seasons change in gardens, learned to recognize neighborhood trees and discovered which streets bloomed first in spring. These walks became a way to gather moments rather than steps or miles.

Perhaps the most luxurious ritual I developed was my “something new date” – a full day dedicated to learning something new. Sometimes this meant wandering through museum galleries, letting art speak to my soul. Other times it meant sitting in a library, following a new interest. It felt good living here with no goals, no required outcomes, just the pure luxury of allowing my mind to explore the unknown.

The irony wasn’t lost on me – in slowing down, I seemed to expand time. Days felt fuller, richer, more alive. Memories became more vivid because I was present enough to make them. Even busy days started to feel different because I had these anchors of presence to return to.

I think often of that woman outside the coffee shop, how she taught me without words that true luxury isn’t in having more time, but being intentional about spending your time. We all have the same twenty-four hours, but some of us have learned to celebrate the seconds and find the sanctity of ordinary moments.

Now, when people ask me about success, I talk about my books written in dawn’s quiet light. When they ask about wealth, I tell them about my daily walks habits. When they ask about luxury, I show them my worn walking shoes. I’ve learned that time isn’t money – it’s life itself. And treating it as the most important asset it might be the richest way to live.

The next time you feel time slipping through your fingers like sand, pause. Take a breath. Look around. This moment, right now, is a luxury waiting to be claimed. How will you spend it?

The Think Rich Journal is your 30-day guide to reset your mindset into abundance, unlocking financial freedom, and living a life of purpose. A roadmap to abundance and purpose you’ll not only help you think rich but live rich—confident, empowered and ready to create a life of limitless potential.

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