My Time

Yesterday I was a lawyer. I billed my time in six-minute increments at an hourly rate higher than the average annual income of those who dwell in India.

Today I am a traveler, making my way to India. Hours drag by (which time-zone am I even in at the moment?) but my time is a nullity. My time is encased in an airplane, locked away from the world as if in a time-capsule that when opened on arrival is found to be empty.

Tomorrow I am a volunteer, giving my time to those who may need it, unmindful of the clock.

Before today I sold my time, and it was expensive. After today I will give away my time, and it will be valuable.

“Time is money,” they say. I say: “Time was money.” Now it is simply time.

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