How much time is truly yours?

I counted the hours and didn't like the math.

Photo by Kevin Ku on Unsplash

Did you know we spend more than half our lives sleeping and working?

I didn’t — not really — until I did the math last week. It was simple enough that even I couldn’t mess it up.

There are 168 hours in a week. I sleep about seven hours a night. That’s 49 hours gone. Add a full-time job at 40 hours a week, and that’s 89 hours total.

That’s over 50% of my life, either unconscious or on the clock.

Seeing it laid out like that hit hard. I was giving away most of my time to things that didn’t feel like living. That shook me. And I wasn’t OK with it.

It’s only been three weeks, but I can already feel the rhythm of my new 9-to-5 settling in.

Unlike before, when I had more autonomy over my days, work now sets the pace.

No more slow summers. No more casual lunch breaks. Not even a Walgreens run without checking the clock.

I’m home, but during work hours I’m not really there, just a body glued to a laptop for eight straight hours.

By the time I log off, my brain’s spent. There’s barely anything left to give my own goals, projects or dreams.

The hours that are supposed to be mine? They feel like an afterthought.

My first two weeks were day shifts, the classic 9-to-5. Last week? Nights, 3 to 11.

I thought adjusting my sleep schedule would be the hardest part. For a while, it was. Turns out, staying alert eight hours straight without a 3 p.m. nap is a real lifestyle shift.

Sleep is sacred again.

But the biggest challenge has been owning the hours outside of work. If I’m giving my 9-to-5 fully to the job, then my 5-to-9 has to be fully with me.

No more autopilot. If most of my time is already spoken for, what’s left has to truly count.

I’ve already made the hard cuts. The things I used to lean on just to fill the time — sports, video games, television, music, drinking, dining out — are long gone.

Now it’s about turning that time into focused, purposeful action, even on days when I’m completely drained.

So I drew a line. I had to.

My math doesn’t even include eating, showering, commuting or bathroom breaks. Did you know the average person spends over two years of their life in the bathroom?

When exactly are we supposed to live?

Being intentional isn’t just a buzzword anymore. It’s my only option.

My formula for maximizing time is simple, not sexy.

I sleep less than ever. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. Seven hours sits at the short end of what experts recommend. It feels like my body’s automatic response, maybe even an antidote, to that unsettling math. It’s my first step toward reclaiming time. Toward adding another year — actually living.

Before my first week in the new role, I tried meal prepping for the first time. No more winging it or rushing. I started small by portioning oatmeal into five sandwich bags to make mornings easier and healthier. I can’t control how long meetings run, but I can control what fuels me.

Then came movement.

Working from home has its perks, but it’s way too easy to stay glued to a chair all day. So I set a goal: 10,000 steps a day, including cardio sessions at the gym five days a week.

I include daily walks not just for the step count. They're my reset: fresh air, clearer thinking, no distractions.

And push-ups. At least 100 each day. As much for discipline as for fitness.

When I’m not on the clock, my waking hours go to family, learning and creating. There are books to read, columns to write, Spanish to master and, of course, money to make.

With over half my week already claimed by sleep and work, there’s hardly any time left.

The nerve of me, then, to spend it scrolling endlessly through my phone.

So I made a choice: to stop wasting what little time I have on distractions or inaction and to start maximizing every minute by committing only to what truly serves me.

Because no one’s going to hand me my time back.

I have to take it.

Piece by piece.

This is my time. My life. And I’m done giving it away.