Life Unchained: The Difference Between Killing Time & Filling Time

Nothing will shock you back to life with more voltage than watching someone you love die. For me, it was my father. Sitting next to his deathbed, listening to him rattle off his regrets, the time he wished he wouldn’t have wasted, and the last wishes he left me with struck a bolt of lightning through the grief that was to come.

I call that chapter of my life “The Dark Years.” I won’t bother you with the details, but suffice to say, I was “Existing instead of Living.” Seeing him die brought back memories of all the other loved ones I lost in my younger years.

All of them with the same regrets.

The things they wished they’d had the courage to say.

The one that got away.

Hiding at work to make money instead of being there for their kids.

Wasting time going out or binge-watching TV instead of living.

There are a lot of common threads that all weave themselves into the idea that dying with regret comes from living your life, killing time instead of filling time. And how we use a lot of our everyday distractions to keep us from slaking the often-scary thirst within.

Time Is the Fire in Which We All Burn

Now that eloquent heading title isn’t my own, I completely stole it from the movie Star Trek Generations. Captain Jean Luc Picard then responds with “It’s our mortality that defines us.”

The truth is, we all have invisible clocks ticking away, counting off each lost second of our lives. As I walked out of my father’s funeral with snot on my shirt, I realized that I didn’t want to waste those precious unknown seconds I had ahead.  

I’d spent years not letting myself love. Not letting myself truly live. Avoiding a life of passion and putting off purpose for some other time in the future.

The truth is, there are a lot of clocks other than death that are running out. Time is ticking away on that chance to put right what you got wrong. To write that novel, make that apology, show up for your kid, and find the emotional courage to tell that person you love them, before they walk away.

People don’t kill time because they have nothing better to do. They kill time because sitting still forces them to face something they’re not ready to look at.

Chasing Sunset

One of my father’s last wishes was that I take my daughter all the places he took me and then “Go Farther.” So, I got my mind right, got my body healthy, and bought a low-mileage SUV. Then loaded up her and our golden retriever and hit the open road.

Sunset over Lake Superior seen from Ontonagon, Michigan.

In the last three years, I’ve been to 17 states, 11 National Parks, and 47 state parks. I’ve watched the sunrise over the desert, watched the sunset over the Great Lakes, let myself fall in love, and learned how to authentically heal.  

I didn’t just travel across the face of the Earth. I allowed myself to go deep into who I am. Facing the man within, and attacking all his foibles with an eye set on personal growth. I didn’t use the time to cover mileage; I used it to add depth to the quality of my life.

The way I see it, killing time is about distraction, avoidance, numbing yourself with booze, a buzz, or shallow connections. Yeah, it gets you from Monday to Sunday without feeling like you’ve got a case of couch rot, but killing time doesn’t add depth to identity. And I’ve seen firsthand how it adds pebbles to the bucket of deathbed regrets.

For me, filling time is about doing things with intention, presence, and real connection. It’s that family road trip, that romantic weekend getaway, dancing together in the rain, taking that chance to go for the thing you really want, even if you might lose.

Take It To the Limit

Every morning I drop my daughter off at school, I turn the SUV toward the rising sun, and as I drive to the start of the morning run, I blast the Eagle’s song “Take it to the Limit.” To remind myself that every day is about pushing my limits with a growth mindset. 

If you look at the person in the mirror in an honest light, it’s easy to see all the big things you know you know you should do. Yeah, you should make things right with your parents before they’re gone. You should apologize to your spouse for saying that mean thing. You know you should go after that new job that will lead to a more fulfilling career.

Yet when I think about taking it to the limit, I think about the everyday little things. To quote the song:

You can spend all your time making money.

You can spend all your love, making time.

Time is the one thing you can’t get back or buy more of. It runs out for all of us. And the way I see life, part of taking it to the limit every day is about filling time with what matters, rather than killing time with petty distractions.  

Because the goal isn’t to check as many things off the bucket list. It’s about making every tick of the clock matter as much as you can.

You see this a lot when you hear people talk about how they feel “Alone in a crowded room.”

When I snuggle on the couch to watch a movie with my daughter, I’m not just taking in the scenes and enjoying the visual explosions.

I’m whispering little jokes about how in every movie Liam Neeson’s “Special Set of Skills” always somehow involves a secret drinking problem. I’m snickering that Mathew McConaughey has been in a million rom coms, but his character still hasn’t learned how to love.

It’s not about distracting her from the show. It’s about putting just a touch of color into the moment that it turns it into a memory, or a shared inside joke, that she’s going to remember years from now, when I’m the one being lowered into the ground.

There Are No Ordinary Moments

The phrase “There are no ordinary moments” comes from The Way of the Peaceful Warrior. It’s meant to teach mindfulness. I’ve learned it’s something simpler, and harder. It’s about paying attention when it would be easier not to.

A few weeks ago, I was at a small venue watching my cousin’s band. Too loud to talk, too packed to move. I got that horrible feeling of being alone in a crowded room. So, instead of checking out, I leaned in.

I started watching the details. The strobe lights hit with the bass drum. The lead singer snapping his head back on cue. The small, precise things that turn noise into a performance. Then I saw the lead guitarist.

Every time the chorus hit, he’d sing his line… and look down. Shoulders rolled. Chin tucked. Not checking his finger work or his picking. Everyone else played to the crowd. He played away from it. I saw him in that “Ordinary Moment.,” The guy had real talent. But he was afraid of being seen.

After the show, I found him backstage, off to the side while the rest of the band worked the room. I talked to him, with my casual extrovert way, and let him know that I saw his talent, not his hesitation.

A few weeks later, I popped in on one of their shows on my way to a comedy show. He was playing more open. Not all the way, but enough to be a real figure on stage. When he sang, he looked out. When the solo hit, his head came up. A little more fire, and a little less hiding.

Maybe it was what I said, maybe it wasn’t. I choose to think that I made him “Feel Seen” enough to let him loosen up.

Happiness Is Only Real When Shared

So far as anyone knows, the phrase “Happiness is only real when shared” is the last thing Chris McCandless wrote before he died alone of starvation in the “Magic Bus” in the Alaskan Bush.

Chris McCandless died alone, starving for connection as much as hunger.

The truth is when you’re just “Killing Time” distracting yourself with “Check Box” experiences, you’re likely going to feel alone. Even in a crowded room.

For me, I see “Filling Time” as being about passionate purpose as much as it is connection. It’s that partner or spouse sitting next to you on a road trip, and she looks at me, proud to be in that shared moment with me. It’s my daughter laughing at my Liam Neeson alcoholic jokes on family movie night. It’s that friend who screams “Oh shit! We’re gonna die” when we go kayaking for the first time, and then tells the story around the fire pit that night.

If you’re just moving through life, killing time on your weekends, you’re just living from spiritual paycheck to paycheck. It’s when you’re filling time, living the adventure of this life with someone who matters at your side, that you build a buffer against those regrets you don’t want to face on your deathbed.

Chris McCandless thought he was going into the Alaskan Bush to “Kill the false being within.” He believed that he was better off alone and didn’t need anyone else to love or share his adventures in life. He died gasping, frightened, and aching not just from starvation, but from the hunger of never being truly known, seen, or loved by anyone else.

He didn’t just write the phrase “Happiness is only real when shared” because it sounded cool. He wrote it because he realized too late that a life of lonely adventure is just killing time, when he could have been filling his time with the kind of connections that matter.