The Day I Learned to Stop Racing the Clock

The Story

If you had asked me six months ago how I was doing, I would have smiled, said “Busy, but good”, and hoped you wouldn’t notice the shadows under my eyes.

I was a graphic designer for a boutique agency in the city. My days began with a ping from my phone before sunrise — client emails marked urgent — and ended long after dark, my laptop balanced precariously on the edge of my bed.

I told myself I was chasing my dreams. In truth, I was just chasing deadlines.

The Breaking Point

It was a Tuesday morning when my watch stopped.

I had been wearing the same silver wristwatch since my college graduation. It wasn’t fancy — a gift from my mom, who said, “Always be on time, and you’ll always be respected.”

At exactly 9:47 a.m., as I raced out of the subway and up the station steps, my watch’s second hand froze. I tapped the glass. Nothing. I shook my wrist as though I could physically jolt the minute hand forward.

I didn’t have time to get it fixed — I didn’t have time for anything that wasn’t a meeting or a deadline. So I shoved it into my bag and relied on my phone instead.

Funny thing was, without that watch ticking away, I felt… unmoored.

The Stranger in the Park

Two days later, I cut through the small park near my office on the way to pick up lunch. It was early spring, the air still carrying a hint of winter. The grass was patchy with frost, and the cherry blossoms were just beginning to blush pink.

That’s when I saw him — an older man with a grey beard, sitting on a bench, whittling a piece of wood. He was dressed in a navy cardigan and well-worn jeans. A steaming paper cup of coffee rested at his feet.

I might have walked right past him, except I noticed the table beside him was covered in pocket watches. Some were gleaming and polished; others, rusted with age.

“You fix watches?” I asked, mostly to break the silence.

He looked up, his eyes crinkling. “I fix time.”

I laughed awkwardly, unsure if he was joking.

“Let me see yours,” he said.

I hesitated, then dug my watch from my bag and handed it over. He turned it over in his hands, examining the small scratches along the metal.

“Not broken,” he murmured. “Just needs a pause.”

The Lesson I Didn’t Expect

He didn’t start repairing it right away. Instead, he set my watch on the bench between us.

“You’re in a hurry,” he said, not as a question but a statement.

“I have a lot of work,” I replied, glancing at my phone for the time.

“Work will fill all the hours you give it,” he said. “But life… life only shows up if you let it.”

I frowned. “So you’re saying I should… what? Quit my job?”

He chuckled. “I’m saying that time isn’t your enemy unless you turn it into one. Most people think they’re racing the clock, but the truth is… the clock isn’t racing at all.”

Before I could respond, he slid my watch back toward me.

“I’ll fix it,” he said, “but not today. Come back tomorrow at this same time. And leave your phone in your pocket until then.”

The Next Day

I almost didn’t go. My inbox was a mess, my to-do list endless. But something about his calm certainty stuck with me.

So, at 12:15, I walked back to the park, phone tucked away. The air smelled of fresh bread from the bakery across the street. I noticed for the first time the way the sun dappled the benches through the branches.

He was there again, sanding the wooden figure — now clearly a bird in flight.

Without a word, he handed me my watch. It was ticking again.

I slipped it onto my wrist, and for a moment, I expected to feel that familiar pressure, the reminder that time was slipping away. But instead, it just… felt steady.

The Conversation That Changed Me

“Do you know what I did to fix it?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“I let it rest,” he said simply. “Sometimes, the gears get so worn from constant motion that they stop altogether. But if you give them a little space… they find their rhythm again.”

I thought about my own life — the late nights, the skipped meals, the constant buzzing of my phone. I had been running my gears without pause, expecting myself to keep perfect time forever.

“How do I make space?” I asked quietly.

“Start with one hour a day,” he said. “An hour with no screens, no rushing. Just noticing the world around you. Let yourself be… off the clock.”

Six Months Later

I still work at the agency. But now, my mornings begin with tea on the balcony instead of my inbox. At lunch, I walk through the park without my phone.

Sometimes, I stop to chat with the man on the bench — whose name, I learned, is Samuel. He still whittles birds and fixes watches.

My watch keeps perfect time now. But more importantly, so do I.

And every time I glance at it, I remember Samuel’s words: Time isn’t your enemy unless you turn it into one.

Closing Reflection

The day my watch stopped, I thought I’d lost control of my schedule. In truth, it was the day I began to take it back.

Because in the end, learning to stop racing the clock didn’t make me fall behind — it made me realize I’d been ahead of what mattered all along.