It happens every year. The end-of-the-year holidays, and most of the birthdays and anniversaries in our family happen in December and January. As soon as those are over and it’s time to get back to “real life,” I look up and…it’s March. I know there’s a month in between, I just lose track of it. But this year, I remember February.

Lost Time

Poor February. It already gets less days than the other months and every four years is teased with a spare. On top of that, it has the dubious honor of being the recovery month for everyone who is post-holiday hungover, broke, dopamine-depleted and facing four more months until summer break.

Still, it is roughly a 12th of the year. Hardly a throwaway chunk of time for those of us who care about time. At my age, all of my Februarys combined add up to (well) more than five years. Time that I’ll never get back; that I barely remember.

So this year, I made a conscious decision to be aware of the littlest month regardless of the resolution-keeping, savings-rebuilding, gym-reacquainting and nose-to-the-grindstone-ing that is a necessary (and hopefully sufficient) sequelae of the previous months’ Bacchanalia.

Time Before Time

When I was a kid, I didn’t lose track of time. I wasn’t even really aware of it; couldn’t tell you what month it was and didn’t care. Paradoxically, the refusal to label time created more of it.

Do you remember when a summer day went on forever? How irritated we were when bed time was imposed even though it was “barely dark out?” The hours were endless and we had energy to match.

All that mattered was the friendship, the adventure that each day held. Who has time to care about what day it is when there are abandoned cars to explore and the illicit allure of a prohibited cave is just beyond that road? No matter that it might be Sunday when summer break eliminates the anticipatory stress of a Monday.

After a long day of full-tilt imagineering, we were so exhausted that as soon as we closed our eyes it was time to set out again, which bolstered the illusion of summer being one impossibly long day. When you are that busy with immediate concerns of neighborhood dirt-clod wars, shipping-crate spaceships and forbidden portals to other realms, you don’t have time to think about time.

And therein lies the trick.

Time to Pay Attention

There is a Zen concept known as the “Art of No Mind.” The idea is to learn to quiet thoughts of what happened yesterday and what you have to do tomorrow so that the experience of “now” can come through.

As a child, this was the default state. Immediate concerns occupied so much mental space that past and future could gain no purchase. Besides, when life is one long, continuously glorious day, there is no “Monday,” with its attendant threat of punishment.

As adults, we are quickly conditioned to feel the weight of past regrets and the dread of future consequences. This is adaptive, I guess, this survival reflex of looking behind to see what’s chasing you and simultaneously watching where you step going forward.

But enough is enough. Our brains have evolved to the point that we need not constantly live in instinctual fear. The evolutionary advantage bequeathed by the knowledge of the tree of "was” and “would” shouldn’t be allowed to render our days an agonizing dirge of base survival.

To reclaim our time, we need only learn to use the here-and-now to subjugate the then-and-there. Simply pay attention to that to which attention is better paid.

No Time Like the Present

It’s true; the art of adulting is in large part an attempt to break the chains of past regrets and mitigate the potential damage of future events. No way around it. Bills must be paid, relationships tended, dogs fed.

The aim of the game remains the same: to be so present in the present that concerns of what was and what could be shrink in comparison.

But that which was effortless in our formative years is a formidable task as a grown-up. It requires a great deal of effort to remind ourselves to clear the survival fog long enough to look around and be aware of what is happening right now.

I promise you it is worth the expenditure of effort, money and - yes - time, to learn how to reclaim your time. Meditation and hypnosis and counseling and mentoring are good places to start. Diligence will reveal the practices most congruent with your personality and circumstances.

Don’t expect immediate results. What was once innate is regained only with guidance and then dedicated and regular practice. Even small gains will pay off in the quest to slow the passage of time; the onrush of oblivion. The goal is to become mindful of the present in spite of the increasing baggage of the past and decreasing prospects of the future.

It takes a tremendous amount of time to learn to remember to forget about time in order to prolong it.

I Remember February

This year I did a pretty good job and remained present even in the daily detritus of “regular” life. As a result, I made each day count and was able to quiet my “monkey mind” enough to have a pleasant and complete recollection of the most brief month.

Are there changes you can make - need to make - to be aware of the passage of time? Do you have the mindset to be able to make the most of the greatest gift of all - your consciousness?

Do you remember February?



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To learn more about how to use these concepts or to inquire about working with me, you can contact me on the Hardcore Happiness website, the comments section on my Substack or Medium accounts or the Hardcore Happiness blog page. If you have found value in this article, follow my Instagram account for daily insights, or my X account for occasional tweets. To support this community, you can Buy Me A Coffee or donate through my Patreon account.

- JWW