Her skin is honey almond, her face gold filigree, and her voice has a soft assurance that reaches the furthest corners of our house. On her brow sits a globe like a third-eye chakra, etched with the words “tempus fugit.” Those words and her rhythmic, insistent chime remind me to account for my allotted time.
Our clock, like the time it tells, was a gift to me. Whenever she runs fast or slow, I open her glass pendulum case and stop the pendulum, which has a small knob at its base. One quarter turn to the right speeds her up two full minutes a day if she’s running behind. If she’s running fast, a quarter turn to the left slows her down by the same amount of time.
It’s fascinating to me how one small adjustment can have a measurable impact on a complex system. It’s reassuring how simplicity and economy can yield elegance and grace, and how significant change can emerge from a single, intentional gesture.
It can be simple. Anyone who’s tried to simplify anything knows that “simple,” however, is not always easy.
It’s also not as difficult as we make it.
If simplifying is something you’d like to try, I can help.
Schedule a discovery chat or send me a direct message. I’ll get back to you.
