I recently read that the average life expectancy is about 80 years or 4,160 weeks; that is all we get, and that is if we are lucky.

I am 1,300 weeks down, and I have been spending my time sleeping, working, watching TV, and scrolling through my phone. If you’re better than that, congratulations — but personally, I am not. My average screen time this week has been over 2 hours, and that is not including working or watching Netflix.

I complain that I do not have enough time, and you know what? I do not. Partially because I am busy and partially (the larger part) because I am wasting it.

Sensory overload

I recently flew home to Bulgaria for a long weekend after feeling stretched too thin. I was physically and mentally exhausted; I was so overwhelmed that I could not bear to hear the sound of the garbage truck reversing to collect the bins outside the door in the morning. That little beep, beep, beep, beep was driving me mad — it was making my eyes twitch. I could not listen to the radio in the car or the office. I could not read another email or string together a response. I could not close my eyes at night without hearing a TikTok song, the BBC soundtrack, or a Just Eat ad playing in my head. Clearly, I had had enough.

I got on the plane, and the second the seatbelt sign went off, I instantly relaxed — and this is coming from a woman who is scared of flying.

I was sat in a tight spot between two people on a low-cost flight 10,000 metres above the Earth, and I felt like I could breath for the first time in weeks.

For 2.5 hours, I was disconnected

Half of the people on the flight were asleep, waiting for the time to pass. The other half were watching downloaded Netflix episodes on tiny phone screens or reading books. I was in the latter group.

For 2.5 hours, I immersed myself in a novel that I had been meaning to read for three years — 156 weeks. I lost myself in The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, forgetting the problems I left 10,000 metres below.

During these disconnected hours, time seemed to stop

The hours that otherwise seemed to fly by were now ticking away slower than ever (and I was grateful for it). I lost myself in Evelyn Hugo’s story, knowing that the minute I land, I would no longer ‘have the time’ to read for pleasure. I knew that the next time I picked up the book would be on my return flight. And this was true…

Flying back, I strapped myself in and pulled out the book, excited to be disconnected from the world yet again. 2.5 hours later, I had finished the novel, right as the plane’s wheels hit the runway in London.

During the whole flight back, I could overhear children and adults alike asking their mothers or partners how much longer we had left. Every time they received a response, they were shocked at how slow the time was going by.

It was then, 10,000 metres above the 4G and WiFi networks that I realised time does not go by fast. Time goes by the same way it always does, whether you are escaping reality by (ironically) watching reality TV or you are doing something you have been ‘meaning to find the time for’.

4,160 weeks might not be a lot — but they might be enough, if we live them consciously.

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PS: I no longer write my articles on my laptop — I get distracted by opening different tabs or going on my phone. Now, I write my thoughts out on paper away from distractions and then copy what I’ve written onto my laptop. It is a small change but it makes a difference. How do you disconnect when you cannot be 10,000 metres above the Earth?