On My Relationship to Time

Hello, fellow learn-it-all 👋 Greetings from Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Now, let’s dive into letter 318 from a learn-it-all. Enjoy!

Today, while walking about, I saw Dutch flags with backpacks hanging from them. The heavy bag that weighed each student down with books and made them feel like a turtle all through school can now be hung up victoriously. Each graduate feels free and light as a feather.

I stood there looking up and thought: that’s where I am too. I made it here to Amsterdam over two months ago. Except I’m not sure how to fill my freedom yet.

But I remember what constraints felt like.

Growing up in Michigan, summers had a shape. Swim team schedules. Sailing regattas. Family vacations. They had a particular dingy smell of damp, chlorinated towels in the mornings and a crunchy sound as my wheels rolled over fish flies. And I remember the particular freedom on the Fourth of July, plucking sweet pea flowers in the fields, hoping a tick wouldn’t find me and my sister. Then with my siblings and cousins, we’d jump off the dock with the dogs and stay outside until the fireworks started popping off and the fireflies started glowing. The black pavement would burn our footsies. We’d compare freckles as if they were a kind of currency. And when we’d change out of our swimsuits, we’d look at the contrast of how the cutout on the back of our one-pieces created that perfect oval of sun-browned skin. Just like a turtle tan.

Apart from the excitement of a bookmark of a grade, I remember the dread that filled me on the last day of school with the yellow slip for the summer reading list and the blue spiral-bound math workbook. I’d rather come back to school in September with bracelets up my arm. These little handmade things that became small acts of friendship to give away, rather than penciled-in pages of proof that I did the brainy work. I knew a summer well spent meant being outside, seizing the light of the sun.

What I loved about these summers was that I had a choice. What do I want to do? When? Who do I want to play with? Which pool? Which ice cream flavor?

Summer was the first place I learned that I got to decide. The constraints gave the freedom its shape. Without the swim meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays or regattas on Wednesdays, it just felt like time.

I’ve been wrestling with how I relate to you, Summer, and the time that is during this period. I used to put pressure on you as a kid to be the BEST of times to shine bright, making up for the darker, more depressing times to come during the rest of the year.

Usually, my existential spirals wait until the year-end or my birthday, but here we are at the start of summer. A built-in container. A season that used to be amorphous when I lived three years in Hawaii, and now you, Summer, have a shape again.

This is my 30th season with you. My first in Amsterdam. And for the first time since childhood, I have less constraints. No family holiday. No weddings to stand up in. No swim team schedule. No sailing regattas. No triathlons. Just the long nights full of light leading up to the solstice. Spaciousness. And somehow that’s the harder thing.

Before I turned 30 this year, I had a mission to squeeze the pulp out of life. I wanted an era of exploration. And that led to my wanderful chapter of nomading for 17 months. I wanted to run from stagnation and prove I was making the most of my twenties and society’s get-out-of-jail-free card. Saying HELL YES to anything and everything zesty. And I don’t regret any of it. In 2019, I was couchsurfing in New York City, interviewing curious career pivotters for my first book, “Being a Learn-it-all,” when I met Jesse Itzler. He’s a man who reverse-engineers his calendar and wills his way into every experience. He plays offense. I subscribed to that philosophy for a while. Honestly, up until now.

But I’m starting to notice something: I don’t want to be in a race of collecting bookmarks1 and then keep racing onwards. Do I really want to cram more jars of jam on the shelf and somehow think my life is more meaningful for it?

(1) How can I be stable and also have space for spontaneity?
I want the anchor of routine, AND I also want to say yes to that spontaneous thing that appears on a Wednesday afternoon to go swimming in the sun that I couldn’t have planned. I want to slow down the perception of time with novelty2, but why can’t I enjoy what is not novel?

(2) How do I play offense and defense at the same time?
Non-negotiables on the calendar, AND leaving space for the natural forces to flow in?

And the hardest one…

(3) How do I live with intention and let go?
I am an intentional person. I make lists and mantras and master prompts. I like to do projects and always have a rough idea of how they align with my values, AND I also believe that the universe has a current, and that fighting against that flow is exhausting.

I don’t have clean answers to any of these. Not yet.

But what I’m noticing is a shift. I used to think adventure was the best, most immersive way for me to learn. Now, I see how I can travel by going deeper into the layers of the person sitting across from me. I used to think a life well lived meant minimizing future regrets and cramming in the experiences to fill my life resume. Now I’m wondering if the metric was wrong to begin with.

How can I find magic in the mundanities? Bliss in the boredom? Nuance without novelty?

I want to appreciate the insignificant moments, like a crispy toastie cheese sandwich, the white flowers wafting my way from my neighbor’s wall, the willows that make my eyes weep as I cycle the Singel gracht to Dutch class. These aren’t bookmarks. This was just a Monday. And I’m starting to think Monday might be enough.

But I’m also not ready to fully let go of ambition, of striving, of the call toward something more. I want to inspire the people around me by what’s possible. I want to make things with my hands. I want to feel my heart rate rise. I don’t want to stagnate in the name of presence.

So I’m torn. And I’m sitting with that.

Maybe time isn’t something to spend. It’s something to notice and be okay accepting as it flows by. This my human experience. This is it.

Do I need to shake up the snow globe that is my life? Or am I finally ready to set it down and watch the snow settle?

I don’t know yet. But I think, Summer of 2026, you might just be where I find out.

What does it mean to relish a life that’s finite?

That’s the question. The next letter is where I try to answer it.

Somewhere in the middle of it,

LJ

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Are you collecting bookmarks or actually living the pages?

Last January, I wrote about time as a gift rather than a limitation and that each moment offers a chance to notice, savor, and choose what matters most. I liked that I’d written it. I just hadn’t quite figured out how to live it yet.

“All we have to do is decide what to do with the time given to us.” — Gandalf in the Lord of the Rings by J.R.R Tolkein

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

• Handwrite this letter every day for about 5 days and tinkered so much with it. Getting these thoughts out feels fabulous! I’m off to watch Devil Wear Prada 2 (finally).

• Got a 69% on my Dutch reading and writing exam, and I’m now moving into A2 by self studying this summer. I want to keep learning Dutch in fun ways outside of the classroom.

• Led my first workshop on using a Claude plugin to create AI-driven workflows for the Building a Second Brain community and found it useful!

• Went to my second Salsa social party and danced with lots of different leaders. Had a lot of fun!

• to amany folks I talked about time with over the past days. I feel like such a weirdo

I am grateful you chose to fill part of your day here.

If something in this letter resonated, press the ❤️ , leave a comment, reply to this email, or reach me at vermetJL@gmail.com. I love hearing from you.

Keep on learning 😁

Tot snel 🌺 🌺

Toodles :)

Jen

P.S. #1 - I wrote a book. Letters to My Life is my favorite way to share my writing with you (and it keeps your screen-time stats down). Grab your copy here.

P.S. #2 - Here’s what you missed. Last week I wrote about why I said Yes, before future me forgets the frivolities of May 2026