i’ve been thinking about time lately. not in the hours-and-minutes way, but in how we move through it. how sometimes it feels like a blur, and other times, like a window. a moment that holds more weight than it should.
when you’re in school or early in your career, it can feel like you’re always borrowing time. trying to prove you’re worth it. that you can keep up. that you won’t waste the opportunity. every meeting, every chance to contribute, can feel like a clock is ticking. you’re not given time—you’re loaned it. and you spend most of it trying to earn more.
it’s subtle. not someone saying “you only get 15 minutes.” but more like knowing that attention is scarce, and you're not the default pick. it shows up in how you prepare three times as much. in how you overthink your phrasing in emails. in how you reread a slide deck six times before hitting send. in how you get quiet in a meeting not because you don’t have ideas, but because you’re not sure if this is the right moment, or if you’ve “earned” the airtime.
and the irony is, most of that pressure doesn’t come from others. it stems internally…wanting to show that you can be trusted with more. wanting to feel like you belong in the room, not just got lucky enough to be in it.
the pace of things //
i used to think speed was the goal. move fast, get a lot done, stay ahead. but i’ve learned that pace is less about how quickly you’re moving and more about whether it’s sustainable. whether you’re moving in a direction that feels like yours.
there was a semester where i said yes to everything: helping run a student org, mentoring, taking an overload of classes, building side projects. it looked good on paper. i was “doing a lot.” but i was skimming the surface of all of it. i’d show up to a team meeting with my camera off, half-listening while drafting something else. i was always playing catch-up, and somehow, still feeling behind. the worst part wasn’t being tired—it was not remembering what i spent the week doing.
now, i pay closer attention to energy, not just output. i ask myself:
did this leave me feeling more full or more drained?
am i doing this because i care, or because i’m afraid of being forgotten?
am i adding things that expand me…or just fill my calendar?
pace isn’t about optimization. it’s about rhythm. and the moments where i’ve actually grown the most weren’t the fastest ones. they were the ones where i had room to think, to notice, to go a layer deeper on something that mattered.
detours are data //
some of the best things in my life happened by accident. not through planning, but through staying open. a late-night conversation that turned into a side project. a class i added last-minute that reshaped what i wanted to study. a cold email that became a job.
my freshman year, i (an inexperienced, overly ambitious freshman) was hired as an associate director to run northeastern’s startup incubator. at first, i thought it’d be mostly ops — coordinating timelines, running info sessions, booking rooms. but once i started working with founders, everything shifted. i wasn’t just running logistics. i was editing decks, jamming on positioning, helping people debug MVPs. every week felt like a new problem to chew on. it taught me more about product and pace than any class ever did.
…
more recently, someone asked me where i saw myself at 25. and when i actually sat with the question, i realized i didn’t have a tangible answer — and for the first time, that didn’t bother me. my answer was that i didn’t care for a title, company, or prestige (like i used to). i just wanted to be undeniably good at one specific thing. something niche. something driven purely by curiosity, not resume logic. that’s still the north star: go deep on what makes me want to keep learning and let the rest follow.
time as generosity //
one of the kindest things someone can give you is their time, especially when they don’t have to. i think about a senior who helped me prep for my first hackathon even though we’d just met. or the alum who reviewed my resume during a busy week and sent back voice notes with feedback. or my friend who stayed on the phone with me until 1am while i talked through a decision i couldn’t make.
these aren’t grand gestures in the traditional sense. they’re 10- or 20-minute windows that end up meaning more than they probably realize.
it’s made me more mindful of how i show up too. i don’t always have hours to spare, but i can send a quick note of encouragement. forward a job posting. show up to a demo. edit someone’s pitch. & make small investments that build trust. they remind people they’re not alone in figuring things out.
and it’s not about owing someone back. it’s about keeping the loop going. being the person who gives time, even when no one’s watching.
memory is the real asset //
what you remember from a period usually isn’t what you expected to. it’s rarely a resume bullet or polished outcome. it’s a moment of real connection. a conversation that made something click. the feeling that you were in the right place at the right time.
in high school, i was in a business club called fbla. during my junior year, i ran a “shark tank”–style event for nonprofits and led a small team to make it happen. one of the girls on that team was lovely to work with, but she moved away halfway through the year. we hadn’t spoken in a while…but around year later, right around my high school graduation, she sent me the kindest note i’d received at that point in my life (lol) thanking me for how i led that team.
i don’t remember much else from that role — not the exact event, not what we presented — but i never forget that note. her two-minute gesture stuck with me for years. it reminded me how little it takes to leave a lasting impact. and honestly, writing this made me realize i should probably reach back out.
we chase productivity, but what actually lasts is presence. did you make space for others? did you listen closely? did you leave people feeling seen?
the feeling someone leaves you with? that stays.
time well spent //
time is never neutral. it either deepens something or depletes something. so i try to spend it with people who make me feel more like myself. on things that make me curious. in spaces where i’m not performing, just being.
and when it’s borrowed time—an internship, a semester, a chance to contribute—I try to give more than i take.
because that’s what makes it stick. not just what you got out of the moment, but how you moved through it. whether you made it lighter. whether you made someone feel more capable. whether you walked away clearer than when you came in.
a closing note //
the older i get, the more i realize most things come down to time. not how much of it you have, but how you spend it. not who gives it to you, but how you treat it when it’s given.
we talk a lot about outcomes — what we built, where we got in, who we worked for. but time is the thread that runs through all of it. it’s the backdrop of every decision, every season, every relationship. it’s the one resource we don’t get back.
so i’m learning to notice the moments that matter. to give time generously. to receive it with intention. to build a life where time isn’t just filled, but felt.
and maybe that’s the real metric: not how much we did, but how much of it was real. how much of it we’ll remember.
- manvi :)