Learning a Different Relationship With Time

On productivity, patience, and choosing my well-being

Today is day 27 of my solo travels.

It feels like I’ve been away forever, but at the same time, it feels like I left Switzerland only a few days ago.

Time does something strange when you travel. I’m probably not the first person to say that, but knowing that doesn’t really help. It still feels confusing in my body. Time feels different here. Especially in Latin America, where punctuality doesn’t really exist in the way I’m used to.

I first learned the word ahorita when I was in Costa Rica years ago. Ahora directly translated means “now.” Ahorita, with the -ita, is a diminutive, something smaller, softer, cuter. But ahorita in the Tico sense can mean now (which is rarely the case), later in two or three hours, or never. And the last one is often what it means.

So time here is used differently. As a Swiss person, it’s very hard to adapt to that.

I also realized that many people here can’t really say no. They prefer to say yes and then not show up, rather than saying no directly. Why that is, I don’t know. But it’s part of the same relationship with time, I think.

In Switzerland, everything is timed down to the minute. The whole system is built on punctuality. A clear example is our trains. When I used to commute from home to work, I had exactly five minutes to change trains. If the first train was two minutes late, it meant I might miss the next one. That’s why Swiss people, at least in my experience, get upset when a train is “only” three minutes late. It’s not about the three minutes. It’s about the whole system feeling threatened.

In my work as a flight attendant, punctuality meant showing up ten minutes early. Being on time was the most important thing, because the whole crew, the flight, and all the passengers depended on it. You can’t imagine how stressful that actually was for me.

Before every shift, I had these mini heart attacks. Always worrying if I had calculated the timing correctly. As a flight attendant, you never have the same schedule, so every time I had to recalculate when to leave home in order to arrive punctually. And if the train was late? Then I panicked.

Of course, the company has standby flight attendants who are already at the airport or waiting at home for situations like this. Rationally, I knew that. But still, I never wanted to be the one causing trouble.

Photo by the Author.

Now I’m here in Guatemala. The sense of time feels similar to Costa Rica, maybe not as extreme, but still very different from what my nervous system is used to. I know I still need to adapt.

Because often, I get disappointed. If someone says we’ll meet at 14:00, I’ll be there at 13:50. And they might not show up before 15:30. Or not at all. And I notice how much I hate waiting. Somehow it feels deeply disrespectful to me. In those thirty minutes, I could have done something else. Something productive.

And that’s where it gets uncomfortable.

Because that’s a very Western mindset. Or at least very much my mindset. That everything I do needs to be useful. Productive. Worth something.

I’ve actually come a long way with this. I’ve learned to do nothing. To sit still. To be content without filling every moment. But still, the old patterns are there.

Society doesn’t really accept doing nothing. At least not Swiss society.

I remember last summer when I spent a month with my family in Norway. One day my dad asked me what I had done all day. I said: reading, writing, sunbathing, swimming, resting. And he answered: “So you did nothing all day.”

That sentence hurt more than I expected. I know he didn’t mean it that way, and we talked about it later. (And if you’re reading this, Dad, I still love you.)

But isn’t it interesting how that comment sticks with me to this day?

I don’t really blame him. I blame our society. Everything needs to be productive, fast, efficient. Resting feels almost shameful, unless you’re seriously ill. And even then, you often feel like something is wrong with you.

When people ask me now, while I’m traveling, what I do back home and I answer “nothing,” people usually look shocked. People from the States often respond with “good for you.” Is it really?

I love languages, and I find it fascinating how the same phrase can mean something completely different depending on where you are. In Swiss German, “good for you” is often meant sarcastically, not from a genuinely kind place.

Anyway. Back to time.

I need to be honest. I have adapted a bit already. I show up at 14:15 now. And sometimes not at all, but I always let them know beforehand.

Photo by the Author.

And now, back to day 27 of my travels. Day 10 in Antigua, Guatemala. I think I’ve reached a point where the city is not entirely new anymore. It’s still exciting, but not like in the first days. And I notice that this is usually the moment when people leave for their next destination.

Traveling like this can really be like a drug. Always chasing the next experience. The next place. Without ever slowing down and staying with yourself for a moment.

Yesterday, I felt very agitated. Restless. And I think it was mostly about that. Wondering what I’m doing here. And what I should be doing. Is it time to move on?

Most people here stay for a maximum of three to five days. They come to do the Acatenango hike and maybe see the city for a day or two. I haven’t even done the hike yet. I want to do it one day, but right now I mostly feel pressured to do it, because everyone keeps asking me about it. I’m scared of it. And at the same time, I want to conquer that fear one day. In time.

The last four days, I’ve been staying in a hostel. I thought it was time to change from my private Airbnb to a hostel. To meet other travelers. To be social. To save some money. Usually, I love hostels.

This time, I absolutely hate it.

I’m in a ten-bed dorm right next to a busy street. The chicken buses pass by constantly, loud and overwhelming. The door squeaks every time someone opens or closes it. People arrive late at night or leave early in the morning. I think I’m the only one who has stayed here for more than two nights.

And I haven’t really talked to anyone, except the employee. Most people are traveling in groups already. It doesn’t feel like one of those hostels where people stay longer and slowly become a little family.

During the last days, I started to miss my little hostel family in Oaxaca. I stayed there for five weeks, three of them volunteering at the reception. And again, I realized something I already know but keep forgetting: everything in life needs time to ripen.

I can’t expect to feel at home on day one. I can’t expect deep connection immediately. Everything needs time to grow before you can harvest the fruit.

And I guess I’m not as patient as I thought I was.

I’m patient when I know the end date. When I can see the goal. But when I can’t, patience is really hard for me. Like in my own life. Career questions. Work. Purpose. I want to know now what I’m meant to do. Everyone around me seems to expect that I know too. But I don’t. And I can’t force it.

So I try to remind myself to breathe. One step at a time. Inhale deeply. Let go with every exhale. For now, I’m here. And that has to be enough.

Photo by the Author.

This week, I signed up for an intensive weaving course. Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. I’m really excited about it. Otherwise, I’m trying just to be. To be “unproductive.” To go with the flow and see where I end up. To follow joy. Curiosity. Small sparks of light.

And today, I’m moving again.

I’m going to stay in a small studio right above where I’ll have my weaving classes. I can’t bear another night without proper sleep. I know it costs more, but I’ve realized that I need to put my well-being first. Especially as a highly sensitive person, I need quiet to rest properly.

Right now, I feel like a zombie. Nauseous. Exhausted. My head hurts. Even though I was in bed at nine last night.

So I see this as a small win. Standing up for myself. Choosing a private room. Spending more money and still saying that I’m worth it.

And this is where growth actually happens for me.

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I love you.

Eilin 🧚🏼‍♀️

And remember to be gentle with yourself.

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