Chronos and Kairos
A Personal Reflection on Time...
[This article contains a paragraph about having children and giving birth. While not graphic, I understand the topic of having children is not for everyone and can be distressing for some people for a million reasons, so if you’d rather not, this is your exit sign.]
In discussions, I frequently refer to myself as a woman of science—I hold a natural science degree, and I am also a trained psychotherapist (and they’re just two of the many hats I wear or have worn in my life). Add to that a lifelong love for reading, studying, learning, reassessing what I know and thinking to myself, “Yeah, maybe that was true 10 years ago, but we have moved on since then,” and you get the picture.
However, there are always two sides to every coin, and there are also two to me (did I just refer to myself as small change?): Despite being a scientist at heart, I also believe in intuition, gut feelings, questions that cannot yet be answered and maybe never will. That it’s okay to say, “I don’t know,” and that it’s also okay to say, “I do know, and yet I don’t understand why.”
One part of that is that I sometimes lean into my intuition by pulling a tarot card (or doing a whole spread). Not because I particularly believe in woo, but rather because I like to connect with what my mind coughs up when I turn over thoughts related to the card’s meaning in my head, or letting its visuals work on me for a bit. So rather than thinking of cards as a divinatory tool (which I personally don’t, but other people’s mileage may vary); I use them purely for bringing to the surface what has been lurking underground for a while.
One particularly beautiful set of cards is Kim Krans’ Archetype Cards (so not a Tarot deck in the strictest sense). And recently, I pulled this one:
And it immediately brought up so many thoughts, some of which I’ve decided to share with you today. Because, you know, I wanted my Substack to be more about storytelling and the element of shared humanity contained in those stories, about the overarching themes of creativity that connect us.
But Wait, What Are Chronos and Kairos?
Both Chronos and Kairos are Greek words for time, but they mean different things:
Chronos is the meaning that most of us probably think of straightaway: The ticking of the clock, calendar dates, deadlines, and schedules. It is the time that governs our daily routines, our work hours, and our appointments. Chronos is quantitative; it measures time in units and usually also refers to a sequence of events. It is the time that we often feel we are running out of, the time that slips through our fingers no matter how tightly we try to hold on to it. The Greek God Chronos has his Roman equivalent in Saturn, and Saturn devours his own son (you might know the famous painting by Goya)—’nuff said.
Kairos, on the other hand, is qualitative. It is the opportune moment, the “right” time for something—the time when everything aligns perfectly. Kairos is not measured by the clock but by significance. It is the time when we are fully present, when we experience a sense of timelessness, and when we feel meaning. Kairos is the time of inspiration, creativity, and deep connection.
My Own Perception of Time…
Reflecting on my own life, I can see how these two concepts of time have played out in different ways. Growing up, I was always acutely aware of Chronos: My days were relatively structured (they still are to a degree, but that’s another story)—around school schedules, extracurricular activities, and family routines. And I know that this is a deeply personal thing, but possibly from the age of 12/13 or so, I felt a constant sense of urgency, a feeling that there was never enough time to do everything I wanted. I remember feeling frequently stressed when trying to balance homework, music, and social life—the literal race against the clock.
And unfortunately, as I entered adulthood, the focus on Chronos only intensified. The demands of my often hectic work schedule, the pressure to meet deadlines, and the need to manage multiple responsibilities both tied to my own life and that of a dying parent left little room for anything else. And especially the prospect of the death of a loved one made it all the more painful—the sense of running out of time was debilitating, all the while knowing there was nothing to stop it anyway. And I’m the type of person who tries to control the uncontrollable (the only difference between now and then is that I know that’s what I’m doing and that I give my 50-year-old self far more grace than my 30-year-old self), and usually to my own detriment. Without going into the details of all that—it was exhausting.
Landscapes
It wasn't until I experienced two other significant life events that I began to understand the meaning of Kairos. One was leaving the country I grew up in, and giving up everything that didn’t fit into roughly ten boxes and two suitcases. I had no plan; people told me I was mad for it, but it felt right. The time was right to reconnect with myself. It allowed me to slow down, to be present, and to experience life differently. I particularly remember sitting on top of a rock, taking in the landscape that would now be my home, feeling the wind around me (and while that might sound kitschy and cliched, trust me: Scottish weather isn’t built around a little light breeze most of the time ;)). I just felt a profound sense of peace and connection. In that moment, time truly stood still. I was fully present, not thinking about the past or worrying about the future. That was a Kairos moment, a moment of pure being and deep significance.
Life
The other was the birth of my daughter. My birth experience was fairly uncomplicated, a few minor hiccups aside. One of these hiccups was that they couldn’t find my daughter’s heartbeat due to broken equipment. Oh, NHS, how I love thee, and scaring the living bejeezus out of a mother-to-be who thinks everything will go to shit on the finishing line. But that minor hiccup aside (and maybe also partly because of it—everything makes sense in the end I guess), I can only describe it as a profound experience where time seemed strangely warped—passing incredibly quickly while at the same time stretching into eternity. It’s the raw intensity of life itself: The world outside fades away, and all that exists is the here and now—the rhythmic breaths, the pain that comes but also goes, the primal connection between mother and child. And when I held her for the first time, past and future just dissolved. There was only the present, charged with the power of creation and the miracle of new life (and I don’t expect other people to see it the same way because I know it isn’t for everyone—it wasn’t for me either for a very long time).
Both experiences taught me the value of Kairos and the importance of balancing it with Chronos. While we cannot escape Chronos entirely, we can learn to recognise and embrace those moments when time feels expansive and meaningful. We can prioritise experiences that bring us joy, connection, and fulfilment rather than constantly chasing after the next deadline or achievement.
It is so easy to get caught up in the relentless march of time—it still happens to me on the regular. I feel it acutely when I’m bombarded with information, constantly connected to technology, and pressured to be productive. As soon as I start to focus on efficiency and productivity, I start to feel drained and disconnected—despite being “plugged in” (the irony). And it was a major reason for me to abandon most of my social media accounts and also change how I see my Substack.
It’s still a work in progress, but I am so much better at prioritising activities that bring me joy these days. It’s the qualitative not the quantitative aspect of time that matters. I usually find this in nature, when I read and write, when I feel a deep connection to the people who matter to me. And I also believe it’s possible to make a conscious effort (I feel a bit loathe to use that word) to create space for Kairos. Sometimes, it can be as simple as giving myself some space to sit in silence. Letting go of the need to be productive is hard for me, but I’m getting better at it. Because what good is it to be in a place of constant urgency because “the clock is ticking”?
It’s ticking anyway, we’re not going to stop it. So maybe we can learn to live our lives with greater intention to make space for those moments when they arise? Because the kicker is:
These moments can’t be forced. But they might pass you by without even noticing if you aren’t open to them…
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It reminds me of Flow, where you are so present time can appear to speed up or slow. Getting lost in the moment is where Chronos & Kairos both are present 💝
Navigating science and intuition, while exploring life's deeper meaning. Interesting work.