In front of me, at my desk, right above my keyboard, is a printout of a monthly calendar.
Not a screenshot of my Google Calendar’s month view. Not a colourful Minions-themed yearly calendar from Walmart. Just a plain, empty grid I printed out. Now filled with dates, notes, and X’s.
Like many folks, I’ve looked at calendars every day for years. But things changed when I started using a physical calendar again.
And things really changed when I started counting days.
Analog
It’s fast. Focused. As grounded as my paper notes.
There’s no login screen. No 2FA. No UX to fight through just to jot something down. No notifications pulling me into other apps while I try to plan ahead.
It’s right there. In front of me. All day.
And not only can I see important milestones coming up — I can feel them.
2 weeks out
When something important is coming up (usually work-related), I note how far out it is.
Sometimes it’s a countdown scribbled in the margins:
3… 2… 1… 0.
Other times it’s plain and simple:
“2 weeks out.”
I don’t want to be surprised by these dates. I want to be aware. I want to keep pace.
“5 weeks out.”
“2 weeks out.”
That’s different from “May 1st.”
There’s a baked-in urgency. A signal. When you’ve got time — and when you definitely don’t.
Counting days
This year, I started tracking not just weeks, but days.
At first it was just a “let’s see what happens” experiment. But this tiny shift? It changed everything.
That strange, foggy feeling of “where has the time gone?”
I don’t have that anymore.
Which is… weird. Because I used to live with that feeling. Not having a grip on time was the default.
Now, just by noticing the numbers — the week, the day — I know where the time has gone.
And how much I have left.
Today is Week 24, Day 162.
That hits differently than “June 10th.”
Week 24. Day 162.
It makes time feel precious. Pressing. Real.
Almost half the year is gone. I want to make the most of the rest.
(If you check the photo, you’ll see I got the count wrong. Off by one. But that’s okay. It still did its job. I still showed up. That’s what the calendar is for — not to be perfect, but to keep me close to the truth.)
100 × 52
Okay, this next part is admittedly a bit much for most people.
But alongside tracking weeks and days of the year, I also started tracking weeks of my life.
I printed out a grid I called 100 × 52.
100 rows. 52 columns.
Each column is a week. Each row is a year.
This grid represents my estimated lifespan.
I looked up the average lifespan of a Canadian male. Rounded optimistically. Drew a line across age 80 — my finish line.
Then I filled in the boxes.
Year 1. Year 2. Year 3… 35, 36, 37…
And wow. To see your entire life represented in filled-in squares? To see that grid almost halfway done? That hits differently.
The page is taped to my office wall, about six feet away. I see it every time I glance to the top left of my monitor.
It reminds me: Make the most of what you’ve got. Every second counts.
But more importantly: You’ve still got time. You’re still here.
Time
So what have I learned from all this? From counting weeks and days — for the month, for the year, for my life?
It’s all perspective. It’s choice. These numbers are happening whether I choose to pay attention or not. But by paying attention, I’ve changed. I’ve acted differently. Done more. Been more intentional. Maybe even become a little better.
These are the little-big things I’ve done to be more mindful of time.
To keep pace with work. To stay connected to life. And none of it would’ve happened… if I hadn’t taken the time to think about time.
Time won’t wait. But I can choose not to waste it.