Our walls have no clocks but one and it has no minute hand.
On our wall there is no difference between twenty minutes and thirty. We are never two minutes late. We tell time only in parts of hours and our moments are longer.
Possibly predictably we seem to have a little more patience.
The no longer ambidextrous clock seems to have tipped our scales from results to experience – the fact that we have food now seems to matter just less than it’s quality and how we got it.
That I washed our bikes in 25 or maybe forty minutes is no longer a column in our ledger, while the enjoyment of the long moments of concentrated quality work with brushes and warm water no longer need a ledger column to justify.