I Thought I Was Making the Most of My Time. Then I Changed My Mind.

Some years feel as though they blur into the next. The calendar changes, but the way we move through our days stays much the same.

This year has felt different.

When I reflected on why, I realised that some of the most meaningful changes have been in beliefs I once considered helpful. Opinions about how to spend my time, what counts as productive, and how to recognise progress.

The reflection began with an exercise in an Enneagram course I am taking. We were asked to consider the opinions we hold onto, followed by a question that made me pause:

What opinions have you let go of?

I could easily have told you what I had learnt this year. This question asked me to consider what I no longer believed.

It felt more personal. Some of those opinions had shaped my daily choices for years. They sounded sensible, responsible and disciplined. Letting them go meant being willing to question a way of doing things I had been rather proud of.

For me, three stood out.

I used to believe every spare moment should contribute to my growth.

If I was exercising, I would listen to an audiobook, a podcast or the next module of a course. I loved the feeling of doing two worthwhile things at once. My body was moving, my mind was learning, and the time felt well spent.

A long drive was another opportunity. Before leaving, I would make sure I had something ready to listen to. An empty stretch of road required something to fill it.

There is a particular satisfaction in making every minute count. I know it well.

What I began to notice, though, was how difficult it was to hear myself think when someone else was always speaking.

There was plenty of information coming in, but very little room to discover what I thought about it. One person’s insight would lead straight into another person’s teaching. Before an idea had time to settle, I was already taking in the next one.

So I began leaving some journeys quiet.

Now, there are days when silence is the best companion I could ask for. On the way to a meeting, I can think about the person I am about to see. What might they need? What am I carrying from the previous conversation? How do I want to show up?

That quiet gives me time to become present, open and grounded.

Sometimes an idea emerges. Sometimes I work through a question. Sometimes I simply drive, without requiring the journey to deliver a lesson.

That last one has taken some practice.

I still love learning. I am becoming more discerning about when I need another voice and when I need to hear my own.

My old opinion was: Don’t waste empty space.

My new opinion is: Silence deserves a place in my day, even when I have nothing to show for it.

Perhaps there is a space in your day that you fill automatically. What might you hear if you left it quiet?

I used to believe journalling could wait until the real work was done.

My relationship with journalling used to be a little long-distance. Sometimes we spoke every day. Then weeks would pass without a word.

I rekindled my love for it while rereading Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. Her practice of Morning Pages involves three pages of longhand, stream-of-consciousness writing: somewhere to put whatever is moving through your mind.

Yet when I sat down to write, my inner critic often had something to say.

Why are you wasting time? You have real work to do. You can write all you like, but the work will still be there. Get a head start. You’ll feel better.

It was a persuasive argument because part of it was true. The work would still be there.

Often, I listened. I put down the journal and opened the laptop.

I got the head start.

I didn’t feel better.

The same thoughts were still looping. The unfinished conversation, the worry, the thing I was trying to work out. I had started working, but I had brought all of it with me.

I was asking my attention to be available while giving it very little room to settle.

Writing gives those thoughts somewhere to go. On the page, I can begin to recognise what needs action, what needs a little kindness, and what I have been rehearsing without getting anywhere.

Anne Lamott wrote, “My mind is like a bad neighbourhood; I try not to go there alone.”

I understand that feeling. Journalling has become something of a bodyguard for me. It helps me enter those crowded places with more steadiness. I can meet what is there without allowing every thought to take charge of my day.

The practical challenge is time. Three pages can take thirty minutes, and some mornings that feels difficult to find.

So I have made one page my baseline.

Just get to one.

Often, I write more. When I don’t, I have still kept that appointment with myself. Giving myself a smaller starting point has helped me return consistently.

Now, journalling feels as natural as brushing my teeth. It is part of how I prepare for the day, and I can feel the difference when I skip it.

I used to associate it mainly with creativity. I now understand how much it supports my patience, clarity and capacity for the day ahead.

The work is still there afterwards. I am in a better place to do it.

What helps you meet your day—and do you give it a place before the demands begin?

I used to underestimate progress I couldn’t see.

After my back surgery earlier this year, rehabilitation became part of my daily life.

Twenty minutes of exercises. Repeated the next day. And the day after that.

When you want to feel strong again, those small movements can seem a long way from the life you are trying to get back to.

I did them, but sometimes with a grudge. Another thing I had better get through. I wanted to feel the benefit, and daily repetition does not always offer immediate reassurance.

Looking back now, I can see what was difficult to recognise then.

Those twenty minutes were adding up.

Today, I am medication free. I feel strong. And my attitude towards the practice has changed.

I had better do this has become This makes me stronger. It works.

I still give it twenty minutes. I bring a different energy to those minutes because I trust their value.

This is something I often speak about with micro-wins: the power of a small action repeated consistently. Rehabilitation has made that lesson deeply personal.

Some days, the win is simply doing the practice again. You may finish without feeling noticeably different. That does not mean the effort was insignificant.

We can be so quick to ask, Is this working? Sometimes we need to give the answer time to become visible.

What are you doing consistently that deserves more credit than you are giving it?

Final Thoughts

When I look at these three shifts together, I can see a deeper change.

I am learning to trust my own thinking enough to leave room for it. To trust my experience of what helps me, even when my inner critic has a convincing argument. To trust small actions long enough to receive their benefit.

There is also more choice in my day.

I can choose whether I want company on a drive. I can open my journal without first defending the decision to myself. I can do my exercises with appreciation for what they are helping me build.

That matters. The way we speak to ourselves about our habits becomes part of the experience of doing them.

What strikes me is how reasonable my old opinions sounded.

Make good use of your time. Get the work done. Look for results.

I still value those things. I have become more willing to notice when the rules I build around them make my life unnecessarily demanding.

As we move through these last months of the year, take a moment to ask yourself:

What have I changed my mind about?

Perhaps you have discovered that asking for help builds trust. That a boundary can strengthen a relationship. That rest deserves a place before exhaustion makes the decision for you.

Or perhaps there is a belief you are ready to reconsider.

Choose one and give yourself a small experiment this week. Leave one drive quiet. Write one page before opening your inbox. Keep showing up for a useful practice without asking it to prove itself every day. Put yourself in the calendar without guilt.

Then notice how it feels. Let your experience contribute to your opinion.

For me, this year’s growth has included becoming more willing to say, I used to believe that. I see it differently now.

There is freedom in allowing yourself to be changed by what you are learning.

And sometimes, the first sign of that change is a quiet drive home.

Here's to new beliefs,

Warm wishes,

Lori