The Mormon Missionary Part II: Time on My Hands

I often reflect on the unique ways I felt as a missionary. The missionary lifestyle provides a singular cultural experience. For me, it led to more personal introspection and growth than any other experience I have ever had. While there were many things which made this experience such a curious one, if I had to choose one aspect which influenced me more than anything, the answer might surprise you. Time. Time, as a missionary, took on a completely unprecedented meaning for me. Never before have I been so aware of time.

Missionary work was constantly coupled with an unquenchable sense of urgency. Every moment of every day was highlighted by a mightily noticeable feeling, ever present in the depths of my skull. It felt as if I were systematically asking myself: “Are you using time in the best possible way?”

Though I reminisce on my missionary experience with pleasant memories, it wasn't all happiness and sunshine. There where times when I felt frustrated, inadequate, and unsuccessful. Never was I made to feel these feelings from others in the mission (I know this can't be said for all who have been missionaries). These feelings came from myself. These were the times when I felt that time itself got the better of me.

In addition to being a periodic source of frustration, time also became one of my most trusted friends. Sometimes my missionary relationship with time provided positive motivation and pushed me to stretch myself and go beyond my perceived abilities. These moments were anything but frustrating or self-destructive. Quite on the contrary, I recall many nights going to bed with such an intense feeling of joy and happiness covering me like a blanket. In these moments, I remember feeling overwhelmingly happy to be alive. These feelings, almost without fail, came after my concept of time pushed me to my limits, and showed me that I could accomplish far more than I otherwise would have thought possible.

When I didn't respond to the beckoning of time, I would feel that I had let myself down. I would feel that I had chances to push myself, yet shied away from these opportunities for growth. Often, this feeling of personal guilt would lead me to make extra effort the following day, while other times, it felt like a captive cycle that I could not bring myself to break.

In the end, the negative experiences were no match for the wonder of the positive ones. In fact, the negative experiences were essential in recognizing how this process worked, and being caught up on both sides of this coin helped me gain a better, albeit still growing, understanding of time. Indeed, there are few moments of joy in my life that I cherish as much as some of these missionary experiences which center on my relationship to time.

I even had an odd and almost ritualistic experience which occurred to me the day I returned home from Russia, which metaphorically echoed my missionary relationship with time. As I stepped into my parent's home for the first time, my wristwatch, which I had worn daily as a missionary and used to manage this heightened sense of time, unexpectedly broke at the band. It fell from my wrist and onto the kitchen counter, never to be fixed. I have not worn one since.

In my post-missionary life, remnants of this phenomenon of time-awareness have remained, though they have never felt quite the same as they did during that two-year period. Nevertheless, whenever I feel I am being idle, that voice within me still suggests that I should not be using my time in a wasteful manner.

Ultimately, I believe this was one of the most important steps in my personal maturity. It demonstrated clearly to me the value of consistency and the importance of using one's time wisely. It is still a path of discovery for me, but one that would likely have not come about, save for the lessons that time taught me as a missionary.