Have you ever noticed how time behaves differently depending on what you’re doing?
One minute you sit down and say,
“I’m just going to do this for an hour.”
Next thing you know, you look up, the light outside has changed, your stomach is growling, your phone is full of missed notifications—and somehow four hours have passed and it felt like fifteen minutes.
No stress.
No clock‑watching.
No internal tug‑of‑war.
Just flow.
Now contrast that with doing something you told yourself you have to do.
You sit down.
You sigh before you even start.
You check the time.
Five minutes later, you check it again.
Another five minutes crawl by.
An hour feels like a full shift at a job you wish you didn’t need.
Same clock. Same person. Very different experience.
When Joy Hijacks the Wheel
For me, joy has a voice.
Literally.
I like to sing while I work. Music calms me. It lifts my mood. It fills the room in a way silence never could. At first, it feels like the perfect balance—productivity and pleasure.
Until I realize something.
I’m no longer singing while I work…
I’m working while I sing.
Correction—
I’m not even really working anymore.
I’ll catch myself four songs deep, eyes closed, fully committed, harmonizing like I’m on stage somewhere between the kitchen and my desk. And whatever task was supposed to be getting done? Still sitting right there. Unmoved. Unimpressed.
Progress: zero.
And that’s when it hits me—
Geez. Why. Why. Why.
Flow Is a Gift… and a Trap
Here’s the tricky thing about doing what you love.
When you enjoy something deeply, your brain doesn’t know it’s supposed to be “background noise.” It treats it like the main event.
Singing lights me up. It pulls me fully into the moment. My body relaxes, my breath deepens, my focus sharpens—but it sharpens on the music, not the task.
That timeless feeling shows up because I’m fully present… just not necessarily present where I intended to be.
Flow doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t check your to‑do list. It just takes over.
Obligation Works Differently
Now compare that to doing something I have to do.
The contrast is painful.
There’s no singing.
No losing myself.
No forgetting the clock.
Every minute announces itself.
My mind wanders everywhere except where it’s supposed to be, and I have to constantly pull it back like a stubborn toddler in a grocery store aisle. Nothing flows. Everything takes effort.
That’s when time slows to a crawl.
Because resistance is heavy—and it makes every step feel longer than it actually is.
So Why Does Joy Steal Focus and Obligation Steal Time?
Because joy dissolves boundaries.
When I sing, I’m not thinking about outcomes, deadlines, or efficiency. I’m expressing. I’m feeling. I’m being.
When I’m doing something out of obligation, my brain doesn’t want to settle. It counts minutes as a form of protest.
So on one side, joy pulls me away from productivity. On the other, obligation pulls life out of the minutes.
Neither is wrong. Both are information.
The Real Question Isn’t “Why Am I Like This?”
The real question is: How do I work with my energy instead of fighting it?
Maybe singing isn’t the problem. Maybe it just needs a container.
Maybe joy wants its own space—before the work begins or after it ends—so it doesn’t hijack the whole operation.
Maybe the things that feel like a painful trek aren’t meant to fill most of my days at all.
And maybe, just maybe, time keeps giving me feedback I keep trying to ignore.
Final Thought
When time disappears, it’s because your soul is fully engaged.
When time drags, it’s because your spirit is elsewhere.
And when you find yourself singing your heart out instead of making progress?
That’s not failure.
That’s information.
The showing up kind.
The “pay attention to this” kind.
And once you stop asking why why why with frustration…
You can start asking it with curiosity.
That’s where the answers live.
So What Am I Supposed to Ask Myself?
When I stop asking “Why am I like this?” with frustration
and start asking “What is this trying to tell me?” with curiosity,
the questions change.
They soften.
They slow me down.
They listen instead of accuse.
Here are the kinds of questions that actually open doors:
🕰 What Is Time Trying to Tell Me Right Now?
- Where does time disappear for me—and why?
- Where does time feel heavy, loud, and slow?
- If time could talk, would it be saying “stay here” or “please don’t live here forever”?
Time isn’t judging me.
It’s giving feedback.
🎶 What Is My Soul Leaning Toward?
- What pulls me in so deeply that I forget the world?
- What do I do so naturally that effort feels optional?
- When I sing and lose track of everything else, what part of me is finally getting air?
Maybe my soul isn’t being irresponsible.
Maybe it’s reminding me of who I am when I’m not performing or producing.
⚖️ Is This Resistance… or Misalignment?
- Am I tired because the work is hard—or because it’s disconnected?
- If I had full choice, would I still choose this?
- What would this feel like if it were aligned with my values instead of just my obligations?
Not everything we dislike is wrong.
But not everything we tolerate is meant to stay.
🔄 What Needs a Container Instead of Control?
- Does joy need a time and place instead of being suppressed?
- What happens if I give singing its own moment—before the work or after?
- How can I honor what energizes me without letting it derail what needs to be done?
Maybe the answer isn’t “stop singing.”
Maybe it’s “sing on purpose.”
🌱 What Is This Pointing Me Toward Long-Term?
- If this keeps lighting me up, what could it grow into?
- What would my life look like if more of my time fed me instead of drained me?
- What am I being gently prepared for—even if I can’t name it yet?
Sometimes joy isn’t about the moment.
It’s about direction.
The Truth I’m Learning
Time isn’t my enemy.
My soul isn’t undisciplined.
And joy isn’t a distraction.
They’re all messengers.
And when I stop fighting them and start listening, I realize:
The question isn’t
“Why can’t I focus?”
It’s
“What am I being invited into?”
And that question?
That one changes everything.
Joy Wasted with KB Dickey 
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