As a kid, I didn’t recognize time as a limited resource. Sure, there was only so much reading, playing, writing, etc. one could do before it was time to go to bed, and sure, I recognized that there was a point which, if passed, meant I would not finish my homework on time, but that’s about it. The idea that I could possibly not have enough time to do everything I wanted to was completely foreign.
Oh, shush. You can stop laughing any time now.
Anyway. That, in and of itself, is hardly an earth-shattering revelation. Figuring that out is part of growing up, part of maturing. It’s good and necessary, but not a sign of any special insight.
All this to say, no one ever warned me that I was going to reach a point where I was going to have to choose what interests to pursue. Or if they did, I was too young and foolish to listen. That’s a distinct possibility. Either way, the fact remains that I’m at a point where I have to balance the amount of time I spent reading, writing, having a social life, playing video games… and the list goes on.
I know. Poor me. Perhaps a better way of putting it is to say that I get to make that choice. After all, it’s silly to complain too seriously about having too many good options.