We’re working harder, consuming more and constantly trying to keep up, but what if the answer isn’t becoming more productive – it’s deciding what is actually worth our time?
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about time.
Not how to manage it.
Not how to maximise it.
Not how to squeeze more into it.
But what we are actually doing with it.
And perhaps, more importantly:
What are we giving our lives to?
It’s a question that has been sitting with me for a while.
Partly because I’ve been reading Sarah Wilson’s I Eat the Stars, which has made me reflect on how I want to live this one life I’ve been given.
But there’s another reason.
I’m married to an oncologist.
And while I obviously don’t want to share other people’s stories — those aren’t mine to tell — living alongside someone who spends their working life confronting serious illness and mortality has a way of making the finite nature of life feel very real.
Every so often, a conversation at home will bring me back to the same uncomfortable truth:
None of us has an unlimited amount of time.
And yet so much of modern life is organised as though we do.
We’re trying to keep up
The cost of living has changed the equation for so many families.
Groceries cost more.
Housing costs more.
Insurance, electricity, petrol, school expenses and everyday essentials all seem to demand more of our income.
So we compensate.
We work harder.
We take on more.
We look for ways to save.
We become more productive.
We try to make every dollar go further.
And, increasingly, we try to make every minute go further too.
We’re told to optimise our mornings.
Track our sleep.
Track our steps.
Meal prep.
Time block.
Use AI.
Automate.
Delegate.
Multitask.
Do more in less time.
And I understand why.
When life feels expensive, uncertain and busy, efficiency feels like survival.
But I sometimes wonder whether we’ve become so focused on getting more done that we’ve forgotten to ask what all that doing is actually for.
What if productivity isn’t the point?
This is the question I keep coming back to.
We download an AI app to save ourselves ten minutes.
Then we pick up our phone and lose twenty minutes scrolling.
We use technology to make life more convenient.
Then spend our newfound convenience consuming more information.
We’re more connected than any generation before us, yet so many of us feel time-poor.
The latest Australian Bureau of Statistics General Social Survey found that 38% of women reported that they were always or often rushed for time. Among women aged 35–44, the figure was 54.6%.
And our phones have become almost inseparable from daily life. The Australian Communications and Media Authority reported in 2026 that 97% of Australian adults accessed the internet via a mobile phone in 2025, with 92% using mobile internet daily.
The technology itself isn’t the enemy.
I like my phone.
I like AI.
I love being able to find information instantly, communicate with people anywhere and make life easier.
But perhaps the question isn’t whether technology is good or bad. Perhaps it’s:
Is the way I’m using it helping me live the life I actually want?
The five regrets
Not too long ago, I read Bronnie Ware’s The Top Five Regrets of the Dying.
Ware spent years caring for people nearing the end of their lives and wrote about the recurring regrets she heard from them. Her book isn’t a scientific study — it’s a collection of observations and experiences from her work — but the themes have stayed with me.
The five regrets she describes are strikingly simple.
People wished they had:
lived a life true to themselves rather than the life others expected of them;
not worked so hard;
had the courage to express their feelings;
stayed in touch with their friends;
and allowed themselves to be happier.
Read those again.
There is nothing there about wishing they’d had a bigger house.
A more impressive job title.
A cleaner house.
More followers.
A better car.
A more productive morning routine.
The regrets are overwhelmingly about relationships, authenticity, time and joy.
And that is what makes them so confronting.
Because they’re not really lessons about dying.
They’re lessons about living.
I think about this differently because of who I live with
Having an oncologist in the family has perhaps made me more conscious of something most of us instinctively know but don’t particularly like to think about:
life can change.
We make plans assuming there will be plenty of time.
We’ll travel later.
We’ll call them next week.
We’ll spend more time with the kids when work settles down.
We’ll start that thing when life gets less busy.
We’ll catch up with those friends when the calendar clears.
We’ll slow down eventually.
But eventually isn’t guaranteed.
And I think that’s why the idea of “making time” has started to feel different to me.
We don’t actually make time.
We choose where our finite time goes
And every time we say yes to something, we’re effectively saying no to something else.
That doesn’t mean we should stop working.
Or stop achieving.
Or stop caring about our homes, careers, finances or ambitions.
Those things matter too.
But perhaps we need to become more conscious of the trade-offs.
If we’re spending another hour working, what aren’t we doing?
If we’re spending another hour scrolling, what aren’t we experiencing?
If we’re saying yes to something we don’t really want to do, what are we saying no to?
What will our children remember?
I’ve been thinking about this a lot.
Our children probably won’t remember whether we answered every email promptly.
They won’t remember how efficiently we managed the household.
They won’t remember how many things we ticked off our lists.
They’ll remember the feeling of childhood.
The ridiculous family jokes.
The music in the car.
The meals that went on too long.
The spontaneous swims.
The holidays.
The birthdays.
The people who gathered around the table.
The conversations.
The laughter.
The feeling of being loved.
And perhaps that’s the uncomfortable challenge for those of us who are constantly trying to give our families more:
What if they don’t need more?
What if they need more of us?
Maybe we don’t need another productivity hack
Perhaps this is why I’ve found I Eat the Stars so thought-provoking.
It has made me question the assumption that a good life is necessarily a bigger, busier, more productive life.
Maybe a good life is one that feels meaningful.
Maybe success isn’t simply how much we accomplish.
Maybe it’s also who we love.
Who we show up for.
What we notice.
What we contribute.
What we laugh about.
What we remember.
What we make room for.
And perhaps the goal of all this technology and productivity shouldn’t be to cram another five things into the day.
Maybe it should be to create enough space to actually experience the day we’re living.
So what matters to you?
This is the question I want to leave you with.
Not what should matter.
Not what social media tells you should matter.
Not what your neighbours are doing.
Not what your career says matters.
Not what your inbox says is urgent.
But:
What matters to you?
Who matters?
What makes you feel alive?
What would you like more of?
What do you wish you had more time for?
And perhaps the hardest question:
What are you spending your precious time on that isn’t important enough to deserve it?
Maybe it’s scrolling.
Maybe it’s saying yes when you want to say no.
Maybe it’s working when you could stop.
Maybe it’s constantly trying to make everything perfect.
Maybe it’s worrying about things that haven’t happened yet.
Maybe it’s simply being busy because being busy has become your default.
I don’t have the answers.
I’m asking myself these questions too.
But I do know this:
Our lives aren’t infinite.
And perhaps we don’t need to live every day as though we’re running out of time.
But perhaps we should live with enough awareness to remember that we are spending it.
Every day.
Every hour.
Every ordinary Tuesday.
And one day, those ordinary Tuesdays will be the memories we have left.
So perhaps this September, instead of asking ourselves:
How can I fit more into my life?
We could ask:
What is important enough to make room for?
Because maybe the life we’re trying so hard to get to isn’t somewhere in the future.
Maybe it’s this one.
And maybe the most important thing we can do is be present enough to notice it.
~Ends~
This piece is dedicated all the friends and members in our community who have inspired me this year; Bec M, Dr Rob Z, Dr Lorraine C, Hen H, Natalie R, Nic O, Suz S, Kez C,
